it fills the air, with a quivering screech.
leaving only the toll of a beating bell.
To the heavens we stare,
hearing nothing at all,
nothing but its honest call.
For in these moments, fleeting, and rare,
we find our pilgrimage headed towards hell.
uncomfortable with the truths we face, we find ourselves pitiless, a hollow peach.
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC
it fills the air, with a quivering screech.
leaving only the toll of a beating bell.
To the heavens we stare,
hearing nothing at all,
nothing but its honest call.
For in these moments, fleeting, and rare,
we find our pilgrimage headed towards hell.
uncomfortable with the truths we face, we find ourselves pitiless, a hollow peach.
