Darkness greets him and he is awakened by the storm
Lonely and forgotten this Christmas morn.
The wind lashes brutally, in his chambers his shivers and shakes.
What fine company he and his sorrow make.
He is lost in his memories; reminiscing of the one he loved the most.
Now shackled up in his make-believe dungeon he sleeps with ghosts.
He’s clipped his wings; he’s torn them to shreds
And now he lies crying, bloody and broken upon his bed.
YOU ARE READING
Goblin Garden (My first collection of random poems) PUBLISHED!
PoetryThere is a shadow lurking on the edge of our perception, in the worst of our nightmares. It is us. It has always been us. Welcome to my first collection of poetry. Here you will find a mangled mess of dark, eccentric and sometimes hopeful poems...
