It burns, crackles, and lightens the darkened world so I can see my stained hands
And I sit quietly, in this gray land
I watch with unblinking eyes.
Because, in the haunted, ghostly night
Far up above- flashes and bright lights burst to make holes in the skies
So I stare, trying not to fight
The world gone silent,
As it focuses on the broken skies gone violent
-Then, a blinding light,
A flash not meant to be mine,
So, Worlds collide,
And in this universe held by time,
My eyes close in dark's might
And... somewhere far away...
A heart beats just barely
Just barely
To the sound of silence
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of the Broken
PoetryThere are voices that cannot be drowned, and writings that cannot be burned. That is because they have found worse and have slowly learned. And this is true. From them, comes the Collection of the Broken.
