By The-Drifter-From-Heaven
My thoughts are empty, like a hollow tree,
My heart stops beating—colder than a stone,
I felt numbness, though I sit in a throne of thorns,
My eyes are blinded by my own scorn,
My soul is gliding in a path unknown,
Drifting in the foggy hall they called home,
Where music of death is the only norm,
A place I can no longer conform,
Freedom is calling mighty and strong,
A herald's hark to listen—to light's song,
A birthing of a new life's delight,
Where pain and shadows are now out of sight,
To forget or to keep—a choice to make,
Embrace the light and let go of the ache.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 4:43 AM UTC
By The-Drifter-From-Heaven
My thoughts are empty, like a hollow tree,
My heart stops beating—colder than a stone,
I felt numbness, though I sit in a throne of thorns,
My eyes are blinded by my own scorn,
My soul is gliding in a path unknown,
Drifting in the foggy hall they called home,
Where music of death is the only norm,
A place I can no longer conform,
Freedom is calling mighty and strong,
A herald's hark to listen—to light's song,
A birthing of a new life's delight,
Where pain and shadows are now out of sight,
To forget or to keep—a choice to make,
Embrace the light and let go of the ache.