She sings of a time,
Gentle and old.
Blue veins in her hands,
and a heart of gold.
Time enchants her weary gaze,
and sleepless nights curse her days.
Hope whispers from heaven on high,
while death chants below, sinister and sly.
"Fly down, fly down!"
the underworld jeers.
"Fly up, fly up!"
The clouds gather their tears.
Up she cannot go,
for her wings have been clipped,
so down she stares,
off the precipice of a cliff.
"Fly, fly!"
heaven whispers one last time.
"Yes, fly, little one, fly."
the demons whisper in her mind.
Unfolds her arms,
and with a curse and a sigh,
she stepped off the edge
and indeed,
she did fly.
YOU ARE READING
Avenge The Broken Ones
PoesíaThis is simply a collection of the poems I hurriedly scratch out around midnight. I usually write about whatever stokes my fancy at the moment - usually sad things, or ramblings about love. Depression and anxiety rule my life, so be prepared to exp...
