Sunday, June 8, 2014

The Living Dead


A tiny bleed, ignored at sight
Nothing grave, its taken so light
Slow it flows, makes no noise
All the while, practice the perfect poise

Unaware of the moment, harm was done
Ignore the signs, would rather run
Forget we then, care to take
Instead a smile, we so well fake

Deeper grows, the cut that's made
The knife remains, though the shadow fade
Slowly inching closer still
And yet not making most of the kill

Seems so perverse, the joy it seeks
Pain forged in fire, blood it reeks
Never to stop , never to go
Your heart's your own, friend and foe

Eyes that once shone, summers spark
Now gleam winter, cold and dark
A shadow of what, once was I
Prayer whispered, as I will to die


1 comment:

  1. Beautiful. You've perfected the art of depicting pain through your symbolism and metaphors. It is so difficult to classify your poems to a single genre, whether it is lyrical or elegy. You've amalgamated the forms perfectly, hope you continue dishing out such beauties.

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