Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Hold your breath as if it's your last to breathe,
Take umbrage at the death that gives us rest,
It mocks our fading inmortality, 
As the crows peck at our infected flesh. 

Thus shall I blame the wrath of hell, 
For the insects eat a decaying child, 
Such a pain it is to let our hope swell, 
That even heaven has become hostile. 

Piece - by - piece the pieces build our kingdom, 
We sit upon a throne of bloody thorns
On empty lungs we wail the Reaper's anthem, 
And await the kiss of my lover's scorn. 

I shall lay to rest beside my Mother, 
For pestilence has caused me to smother.