Let us go to the Place.
The place where the cold, diseased hands of Father Time cannot touch us.
Let us dip our hands into the pool of Creation,
and rejuvenate our rebellious and youthful conscious.
We will never grow old.
We will stay smooth of face,
hairless and innocent to the gods above.
As long as we remain, we are safe.
As long as we remain, our world is secure.
But all things must end.
Soon, the world we know as The Place will shatter.
It will break under the fist of numerous gods we failed to see.
They'll devour the world with stone hearts,
and cold souls.
YOU ARE READING
Sherbet Sweet Slaughter: A Collection of Poems and Short Stories
PoetryOriginal works of writing. Feel free to submit a poem or short story and I'll publish it under your name here
