"glasshour" poems
I pour these words on paper
When everyone's at slumber
I dream when everyone's awake
Like a serpent dutiful for one's sake
I slither, I toil, I breathe, I devour
All it seems for a tiny glasshour
My antidote is mercy not love
A crow as white as a dove
Salvation will not reach me for an eons
My busy hands are as tired as a peon's
Darkness is light, when it is solemn
My chains will forever be broken
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 11:14 AM UTC