Nothing is important anymore.
Shadows cast askew in corridor,
Touching knobs on wooden doors;
Shadows thereof within, of course.
Bland and vapid, listless, lifeless steps.
Deafening silence sliced by cynic deaths,
Crawling creatures slithering ashore,
Washed away by ocean, what a show.
Whines and whispers, crying and rejoice.
Once delightful’s fading helpless voice,
Pumping blood through vessels long marooned;
On ahead we plow and row still doomed.
Nothing is yet something’s also there.
Shadow of a man on shadow chair,
Sitting on the cold of tarnished faith;
Morning dews aglow and die so rathe.
Nothing is important anymore
© Copyright: Томас Кромвель, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124101307981
Свидетельство о публикации №124101307981
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