Light crackles ahead,
Before dissapearing in the dark,
Lighting up the whole world,
Even though its just a spark.
Behind it follows the drums beat,
A slow rhythm gathering strength,
As the sparks shoot off faster,
It becomes longer in length.
The birdsong then quietens,
Nervous as the sky cries,
Showing all of its many sorrows,
From the heavens where it lies.
A carress of a breeze,
Turns into hellish fire,
Turning tears into shards,
In its now devilish empire.
YOU ARE READING
Journal Of The Fallen
PoetryThis is a journal of poetry I've written over the years
