Death frequents tall bell tolls,
To hear a call of death enrolled,
For death is us as death is near,
Cold hearts, windswept to form fear,
But what to fear but unknown depths?
Unknown to me is the bringer of death.
Call on wings of silent breath,
Of hearts who bare the cold of death,
And rise to might and angels fly,
Halos of stars present us with sky,
And moon to brighten their path to home,
And peace to find in clouds who roam. It is all and it shall be,
Death is you, death is me.
As bells toll to tell the tale,
Which strikes my soul onward shall,
Price of souls tis not meek,
Bell tolls twice every week,
A plague on my family,
A plague on my breath,
A sickness without doubt is homed in the death.
YOU ARE READING
We're All Rusting
PoetryRandom poems written by yours truly Trigger warning: As these poems are written about actual life experiences that I have had some of you may find some details to be rather traumatizing, especially if you have went through anything similar. Not all...
