Hearing the colors of these fallacy drop,
alas the music does waltz before it comes to a stop;
whilst I glimpse the pigments of rufescent blood,
that my house of heart they have chosen to flood;
bathing the ode of my clothes and my rooms,
in colors full of dirt and wicked glooms;
and this feat I cannot seem to repair,
as the wicked's laughter churns in my despair;
with the coming of the rising havoc,
staining red on my unearthing hammock;
wondering away from the glimmering eyes of truth,
glimpsing glares from obsidian hair so smooth;
and so I stand in my vortex of sadness,
which brings me to the brink of eternal madness;
and forthcoming is my impending doom,
while all the shadows laugh and boom;
as now is the ode of the truth and destruction,
upon which I rely on the doom of my own deduction.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
