Once each year at the brink of light
Shadows and monsters creep
Black voices wailing at houses
Until they see their homes
Mourning what once was fairy tale
Their white eyes become wet
Cracked knuckles graced the wooden door
The live and weary met
History cries in fate's unknowing arms
Future kissed past's cold cheek
They're embrace held for hours on
But meeting came to end
Year by year passes with distance
And kisses grow more chaste
Until one day knocking ceased sound
Fate's left past in the past
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Attempts
عشوائيI suck at poetry, but I've been told I'm very good at it. [Most likely depressing]
