The Jury.
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Vacant eyes looked down
in an unforgiving stare,
Innocence denied its freedom.
What now brave man? One must
but see their pain, trophies from
your violent past, art has no comparison.
Rusting fusils a symbiotic insult to the game
of waste. May the howling winds remind you
nor thoughts alone be left devoid of preditors.
Tell tale signs of hot and cold on the roof tops
told, icicles transfused their droplets from a
weakened sun,
But soon, these veins of life solidified, and as the
heart, a resting place it found, the longest hibernation
had begun.
With weighted eyes, eternity became the face of in-expression.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
The Jury.
<> <>
Vacant eyes looked down
in an unforgiving stare,
Innocence denied its freedom.
What now brave man? One must
but see their pain, trophies from
your violent past, art has no comparison.
Rusting fusils a symbiotic insult to the game
of waste. May the howling winds remind you
nor thoughts alone be left devoid of preditors.
Tell tale signs of hot and cold on the roof tops
told, icicles transfused their droplets from a
weakened sun,
But soon, these veins of life solidified, and as the
heart, a resting place it found, the longest hibernation
had begun.
With weighted eyes, eternity became the face of in-expression.
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