Tired hands work,
Feverishly,
Constantly.
But to no avail,
Never yielding,
Ever growing.
Worked so raw,
Her fingers bled.
Staining the Enemy red.
Precious life,
Wasting away.
No escape,
No help.
All alone,
Cold, dejected,
She cries.
Left out,
And wanting in,
He cries out.
Trapped by her own self,
She tries to go,
To someplace far away.
Maybe one day...
Quiet stillness,
Darkness lifts,
Slowly...
Quiet now,
He quiets her cries.
The Enemy,
Gone now.
Someplace far away...
YOU ARE READING
Last Wish, My Poem Collection
PoetryFirst poem book. I've filled it to the top with dark poems from the far corners of my mind. Enjoy my shadows.
