[11] MADNESS IN GRAY
We did what we thought was right,
and the world handed us back with this--
justice keeping its head above regret,
sinking down a quicksand when
we forget. How many eyes do we have
to stab blind just for vindication?
How many mouths do we have to
duct tape shut just for the silence?
When the world drops to its knees,
you'll be the first to survive my poison,
and the last to fall beneath my feet.
We'll be the king and queen
crowned with madness on our heads
and fear for our robes.
And we'll do right because
it does not need fixing,
it needs undoing.
And the world will hand us back
a dead empire humming for justice,
two hearts rotting in ruins--
exactly what we deserve.
YOU ARE READING
Witherland
PoetryAgain: precarious. When blood remains, I see the world tripping over the edge of the sword, red and forgotten. They drop, drop, drop-- balance. And we fall endlessly. [a poetry series by alice © 2017]
