Surging through the shrieking clouds who unleash its spiteful rage towards the feathers of my bones, wept indeed in the arms of my death, down I came in the depth of my grave, stormed down hurriedly, each part of my wings ashen to dust, the realisation of misery and vanquished backbones rushes the agony while blood drowns Mr Reaper, my dear friend, waving to my recognition, coming to terms my deathbed is howling with fear,
finally I will leave it to meet the one who created this soul,
electrifying thy body, heartbeat clenches tight to life, yet wrinkling soul forces the truth. the horrible end. the truth sure hurts
can't escape this hellish suffocation towards death, wept until the fabricated image of mother emerged and the false picture of father evolved, there they were flapping their wings
nodding their head, insinuating
'Its time to go, its time to embark through the journey of your death, leave at ease, hold thy hands and rest on our palms, mother and father will take you there'
'Am I really dying, is this really the end, should I really leave behind the screaming grief pleading to live or leave the shameful world desiring for my disposal?
absurdly, awoke from the world of hallucinations and self-pity, remorse immensely embellished its iron bars on my neck, strangling its self-loath upon my palm,
then questioning my decision to live this nightmare of struggle,
'who do I live for? why I live for myself of course! Even when all hope is gone and my wings die'
YOU ARE READING
Decaying and Reviving Hope
Poetry#3 hot: #Reviving #1: wattap #1 hot: #wattpad Collections of poems and short stories exploring the different conflicts impacted and collected within her memory. An opened door to my sorrow and happiness, to my bitter-sweet affections that were hidd...
