THE GODS COLLECT--
Left in the wishing well -- the mortal
Every day don't come the same
some feel like they are stitched
to the mirror's frame
This voice in sorrow
created tongue
beneath a cliff in crumble
falling lovers cascade
as water flowing myths
sodden tearful grave
placed inside a thought we saved
deaths reluctant stance
gun tilted in eye
eaten as the balance is described
fleshless pooling drool
blood kissed the rage washed day
horizon nailed for the blame
setting my broken craven game
smiles in murmuration
winged toothless grinning token
Thanatos
 lie within these weaving walls
echos in chain
leave me voiced choked on remorse
Cold this mist I catch
placed in a wreath- through the dawns sweet taste
kneeling head bowed
darkness in caress
Torn
Torn
always torn
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Comments
A very real portrayal of what seems to be our life after death, visions I suspect, like so many gifted and troubled minds, we poets are inflicted with this burden of time.
I absolutely love this piece, you write like Ann Rice, another truly gifted person.
Thank you for sharing.
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thank you so much for your kind comments
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