When time has come the bound's been cut,
By them you'd conceive when it's utterly your thud,
Of hatred, loathing, uncaring to forgive,
The spikes of anguish lavish in comparison.
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You mark your words solemnly unhushed,
Leaving trails of pity to be followed by guilt,
Of pain and hurt merrily meant to deceive,
Those half-hearted souls shan't leave unseen.
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Brick by brick the boundaries rebuilt,
Risking glances all the while at the unshed path,
Of gloating remorse striving aim to hit,
They never intended to merely draw your final breath.
YOU ARE READING
Creatures of Mud
PoetryA set of humble poems I've written. The subjects are diverse. I'm unsure if I fully understand them myself, so a description would prove to be futile. CRITICS ARE APPRECIATED.
