Ponitus Decor
These walls don't speak but leak of my demise,
and these useless hands I can't help but despise,
they can only do as I imply,
as sins upon mortals I revise.
Inherently mine these lights do not shine,
do not live, do not give, do not entwine my way back to the sight,
cannot sway the maker I inhibit the taker of souls,
I remain awake to the screams of my patients.
Wait patiently in the dark with stark of a smile cross my lips,
I speak of their shifts of life,
These tools I adore to restore the beauty of death upon a whore of the breath.
On these beautiful eyes of green I have seen the work of my clean blades change the sheen of a peasant to a queen,
let the blood run dry as long as you sigh at your sight in the roads after I'm done a maiden this shy will flatter even a rose.
Copyright © Zack Tesla | Year Posted 2011
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