Branches snapped as he approached his fate
The air was stale with a hint of hate
The shadow ahead turned to face
His eyes dark and his tounge made of lace
Walking toward his fate
He begins to hesitate
Living every regretful passing moment
Only knowing pain would be his atonement
The voice of fate sounds familiar
Thinking to himself it becomes similar
He's heard this voice before
Like the raven whispering nevermore
It's clear that this figure, this voice of fate
Has been from from his stupidity and hate
Knowing he was wrong, he's lost, he's poison
He longs for the morning, the lost horizon
The roots of crooked trees
Reaches up around his knees
Forcing him to remain in this darkness, in this night
All because he left that dream, abandoned that light
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from a Decaying Mind
PoesíaA collection of stories and poems created by Adam Shields. These stories tell of love and loss, hope and despair, and twisted versions of tall tales.
