Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
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.
Elias
Written by
Elias
82
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems