Waning Hope
Where phantoms dwell in halls beyond recall
Bound to fate in cells of sanity’s fall
Where souls were left to hunt their past
Cold, lost, bereft. A wasteland vast
Whence I will run, and seek through tombs,
Forget the sun as dark thunder looms.
She too dwells here, a child of strange charms.
Wounds to sear, bled out in late arms.
Copyright © Amaris Muriel Thomas | Year Posted 2016
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