Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2016
The wirs; whistle
Prestigace melancholy
To their voices,

Merely whispers now.
An aftermath of discord
This epoch of anarchy
I never share these
Demons with them

But your baffling now
Waiting--
Your mind is muddled
Melding the wrong words to connections
I never made.

The disarray, in time
Becomes albany.
L T Winter
Written by
L T Winter  M/United Kingdom
(M/United Kingdom)   
301
   AfterImage
Please log in to view and add comments on poems