Reccurence
A reccurence in time
Executed by a mime.
You speak no words
But, black and white
With A dash of red
Around the neck.
Your silence meant yes
To all the uncertainty.
Miming your way
Through all the duplicity.
The shade of black
Show what you lacked.
The shade of white
Veil the grim.
The dash of red for perfidy
Is the last substance for treachery
A collection of poems written by aquintaine.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia.
Poetrymelancholy, blithe and bewildered poesies this is not a place you'd want to enter
