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Literature Text
The pomegranate wine
is bitter,
but the motion is familiar
even if it gives no comfort,
like the markers standing at attention
to declare their cinereal names;
Williams, McCollum, Moore.
I will die here, too,
breathing in the dust
of a thousand corpses
who have long-since
stopped whispering.
is bitter,
but the motion is familiar
even if it gives no comfort,
like the markers standing at attention
to declare their cinereal names;
Williams, McCollum, Moore.
I will die here, too,
breathing in the dust
of a thousand corpses
who have long-since
stopped whispering.
The mind goes to strange places when you're trapped in the same room for fourteen straight hours...
© 2011 - 2024 MadPrinceFeanor
Comments4
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This is great. I like it a lot.