I wrote a poem to the Desolation
It was creating a nightmare
And I only wanted to say hello.
Til blossoms spring into soulless
Words I come forth with no stanza.
There is no form or haiku,
No sonnet, only words from nothing
Creating what only desolate
People can,
Words carry the abyss inside us all,
The emptiness can only be filled
With the words that we bleed out.
And they that know not
The poem that scars over,
They can never read the depths
Of the Desolation inside the poets.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 10:19 PM UTC
I wrote a poem to the Desolation
It was creating a nightmare
And I only wanted to say hello.
Til blossoms spring into soulless
Words I come forth with no stanza.
There is no form or haiku,
No sonnet, only words from nothing
Creating what only desolate
People can,
Words carry the abyss inside us all,
The emptiness can only be filled
With the words that we bleed out.
And they that know not
The poem that scars over,
They can never read the depths
Of the Desolation inside the poets.
