(A thing I wrote about The Host. Prompt submitted by Skidspace on Tumlr)
There's a sudden rush,
A chill in the air.
Though it's strange.
You'd think he wasn't there
But he always sees
Even without his eyes
And a single word
Could mean your demise.
He's quiet, he's still
But he always says
What's bound to happen
Before the day ends.
His words come true
To control the events
Through spoken word,
To make things mend
Or to tear them apart,
It depends on him.
For all we know
That line is dangerously thin;
The line between sparing
And decimating you.
But let's just hope
He never finds us too,
Unless he already has;
We can never tell.
But it's too late when we die
Without a single yell.
YOU ARE READING
Micky's Poems
PuisiA collection of my poems that I post on Tumblr. Warnings will be included before certain poems.
