HE
WAS
JUST AN
EMBER IN
THE ASHES...
STILL BURNING
WHEN HIS WORLD
HAD DIED OUT... A
LONE SURVIVOR IN THE
RUINS WE CALL ASHES...
CAN'T HELP BUT
WONDER IF HIS
FLAME HAD
PERISHED,
A LONE
SHOUT...
A CRY INTO
THE DARKEST
OF ALL PLACES...
THE SERENITY OF THE
TORCH AGAINST
THE NIGHT...
SO WHAT?
MAYBE
THERE'S
NOT
MUCH
LEFT OF YOU
AND ME...
BUT AT
LEAST
WE LEFT
THE WORLD
STILL BURNING
EVER BRIGHT... FOR
HE WAS JUST AN
EMBER IN
THE
ASHES...
AND I,
A TORCH
AGAINST THE
NIGHT.
LMAO, guys... Anyone who's read these books, you get this poem. If you haven't... Just get the fudge out. Get the fudge out. This wasn't for you.
YOU ARE READING
Deepest Afflictions to Random Speculations
PoesíaSometimes We cry Sometimes We laugh Sometimes It's one of the same thing Warning: may contain strong language, adult themes, and an unnecessary amount of "extra".
