The stars are dim.
The sky is gloom.
Yet here you are, the faintest light among the pitch-black canvas.
I'll be sure to tear it apart.
But then you said, "Calamity will fall. Disaster is imminent. Why have you decide such vile purpose?"
"Does your light serves a purpose?"
The blind leads the line.
Defenseless, mortal, and weak.
Manipulated, destroyed, and broken.
I merely accentuate,
how vacant the world is supposed to be.
The storm may strike me down with all its might.
The skies may call forth inevitable fate as I deserve.
It matters not.
I'll be sure to tear it apart.
I'll be sure to tear it apart.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA compilation of short poems inspired by random events happening in my life.
