Empty Halls
When shall death come passing by,
And the world shall at last hear my cry?
When will I wander in his shade,
And feel my breath cease and beauty fade?
So many have cried, so many unheard calls,
Their message echoing through empty halls.
Such cruel a trick the hand of Time doth play,
That in death alone, attention they pay.
A silence louder than a deafening roar,
To be alone encased by walls and a closed door.
Copyright © Emily Schaffer | Year Posted 2014
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