Untitled #4

A very angry poem.

Twisting;
a tempest tossed torment

Dancing in the dark,
a ballet on shards of shattered glass

Like whiskey caught in the back of your throat,
or salt poured into wounds not yet begun to heal

Degradation and the cessation of higher brain functions

The fields are burning,
and the towers have all tumbled down
The silence left in the wake of collapse
is shearing itself apart at the seams

It all spirals
down, down,
    down.

Reviews

[K.E. Henderson]

This was powerful. Made me feel sad but something about it was so elegant and beautiful

[Aidan]

Thank you so much for your kind words! I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment.

[K.E. Henderson]

I am not a poet by any means but I love reading original works.