A God spun ash coloured words
like thread, making them swirl
around the room.
The words tied a knot
around the reader's wrist
making them dance
through time.
The God spun more words
making green pastel hills
with muddy roads
that split through the middle.
It was all form from the rain
the dripped to the earth
from the clouded skies.
The thread pulled, the reader
followed while getting
splashed with mud.
Leaving footprints
across the pages.
YOU ARE READING
Dear: Hell
شِعرThe elevator broke now death played with you all night. - Hell's Deal ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sometimes monsters are real, sometimes Hell is fictional, but both have impacted many lives. So, take seat with some coffee and enjoy this poetry collection.
