Image

A poem I wrought a long time a go. Kind of dark.

A perfect image in the drifting snow,

as I lay dieing in its blue shadow.

The clock, ticking away the time I have left,

            and all that I have now, of me, is bereft.

Memories fading,

            and I am still waiting,

to fly oh so high,

            on wings in the sky.

The promise, unkept,

            Will show them your depth.

You will be caught,

and, for my sake brought,

To the justice you deserve.

Author's Note

Sorry if you don't like it, if you find it offensive, very sorry, if you like it, wow O-O.