Atrophy - 2010/10/23

Pretty pastel fields to which we flock
Promises of paradise tick like a clock
Wicks whittled down soundlessly burning
Foretelling earthly change now churning
Bright shining lights smothered quickly
Trade offs forgotten by children sickly
Lessons tarnished erased and forgotten
Those pastel trees bear fruit so rotten
Brooding colors once lost become found
Blood of these dreams stain holy ground
Loving eyes betrayed one held very dear
Rancid hands reveal the contagious fear
Behold onlooker as it doth now collapse
Beware you might be who it next entraps

No comments:

Post a Comment