There is no love, in the old clock tower.
No sadness, no rage.
No sound.
No emotion, no noise.
Just a tower, filled with old memories.
Memories of life, before death.
Memories of laughter, and hard work.
Memories of a family, before he came.
Before he drained the mother of her soul.
Before he cut the life out of the father
Before he silenced the son.
what once held love, now holds silence, and emptiness.
YOU ARE READING
From the Depth of my Subconcious
PoesíaTHE HIDDEN PART OF MY MINDS QUERY AND MAKE UP. THIS IS MY WHOLE SELF, THE PART OF ME THAT I HOLD DEAR. THE WORDS, THE POEMS, THE STORIES, THESE, ARE THE REFLECTIONS OF MY IMAGINATION.
