Sight

As with being human there are times when I am quite depressed. And so I write to get these feelings out in the open. This is a poem about one of those times

There stands a gaping maw at the end of our reach

It sits silently never leaving and forever bleeding

It bleeds a terrible odor from its rotten teeth

Making the land around it dead, rancid, and grey

This maw has been with us our entire lives

Lying gingerly in our ears

Telling us sweet nothings coated in substantial mockery

Hoping we fail

It always knows what and when to speak

And we can never truly deny its logic

For the horror lies not within its craven mouth

But within the weight of every word it speaks.

Author's Note

Let me know what you think

Reviews

[Wes Hart]

No very subtle, but oh so subtle in the end.
The description is very well done. I could almost paint a picture of what I see.