The Waning Hour
Trapped in lycanthropic manic cycles,
Flooding Water, Burning bibles.
Bones reshape, skins unknown
My flesh betrays what I know.
Impaled on thoughts of dawn and dusk,
I watch the clock with a mind I can’t trust,
Each click with growing disdain, My eyes start to strain.
Bound to Fear and Hunger my endless campaign
The moonlights carved it’s path in bone,
Forever imprisoned to bleed and groan.
Realizing my life was never my own,
The soil will now reclaim its loan.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
