Sanctuary [Poetry]

aug19/22

at your feet, here lies corpses
gone by the wind, home of curses
laid still, the smell of death luring
and the tears of the grieving
appeared uncaring and unforgiving
for the deaths were of sacrifices
an endless wishes the masses
gathered - a whisper of hatred,
a call of the doom;
here thee demon loomed
flying above the corpses
whispering the joy of feast
a tragedy in the corner
the wishes were no better
for it's granted it must
but trickery sticked thus cast.