I walk between the arch of trees,
From the fields;
Towards a church long forgotten
After the ground under it gave way
And sit looking out at the graves
Of 18th century aristocrats
Coated in forget-me-nots
And moss and long untended to
Names worn and barely visible
......
I stood silently, silent as a Sunday aurora,
But my heart was speaking like a non-stop dell,
I could see an angel in the hell,
Who is demonic inside.
There was a youngling nigh her,
Who had my childhood face,
So I asked her ‘ are you gonna slay me ?’
And I stepped back a pace.
......
trigger warning: this poem discusses what may be considered religious issues. these opinions are the writer's own opinions. read at your own discretion.
creatures of the earth
creatures of the sky
creatures from the down under
of humanity’s sty
must we be beautiful
to be worth something?
must we be worth something
......
trigger warning: this poem discusses what may be considered religious issues. these opinions are the writer's own opinions. read at your own discretion.
creatures of the earth
creatures of the sky
creatures from the down under
of humanity’s sty
must we be beautiful
to be worth something?
must we be worth something
......
I stood silently, silent as a Sunday aurora,
But my heart was speaking like a non-stop dell,
I could see an angel in the hell,
Who is demonic inside.
There was a youngling nigh her,
Who had my childhood face,
So I asked her ‘ are you gonna slay me ?’
And I stepped back a pace.
......
I walk between the arch of trees,
From the fields;
Towards a church long forgotten
After the ground under it gave way
And sit looking out at the graves
Of 18th century aristocrats
Coated in forget-me-nots
And moss and long untended to
Names worn and barely visible
......