I was stranded in the island of curfew
And violence.
Wait, let me catch up with you and
Make up for the silence.
The ropes fastened to my ankle-
Those surrealism I needed to trample
to make it through this mundanity;
No longer exists.
nonexistence is my primal reality.
The deficiency that defined me;
The sunlight that drenched me-
Had crumbled beneath the debris
Of bloodbath; my religion is the ideology of Nemesis.
This island is beyond the
reach of Apollo;
And the shadows of the idols are
Black and hollow.
The abundance of abandoned children;
The deaths of dreamers,
Our lands barren.
The curfew screaming like siren;
Under the sins of our fellow brethren.
The sun will never rise here again.
The sins and flaws too heavy to gain
the mercy of the existence they term as God.
Dear lord, let this mundanity be our heavenly abode.
Let this blood rain be our
weapon of survival.
Let this massacre be our
Spell of revival.
I am stranded in the island of curfew and violence;
But I don't want to catch up with you and make up for the silence.
I'm okay, I'm home.
YOU ARE READING
Faceless
Poetry·˚✎ᝰ 𝙋𝙤𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙡𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧 ˎˊ˗ ❝ 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴.❞ || Credits for the artworks used in this book goes to the respective owner...
