My Two Hands
~~~
The air hangs like a traitor
Motionless and well dead
A raucous silence
Stagnating the ear
Un-whispered in the dark
It smells like a thousand years
Light ever the prodigal
And night is e’er king
Sighted by the blindness
I grope the remains
The bones of my feast
Held in the muck and the mire
The pitch-black tar
Of the lesser soul
The wished away
Unregurgitated evils
Bound in the gut of hatred
Rotting rose blood red
Bear not false dream
For what I find, I earned
I put it there
With my own two hands
I have filled this sacred ground
With every thought
With every act
I have built their hell
And placed their bodies within
~~~
Terrifying
Woah! This is darker than what you usually write, but it’s very raw and just as beautiful. ❤ I am so in love with your poetry.
Thanks Kristian! It is a bit on the dark side. I just needed the change of pace. I so appreciate all your love and support!
I am drawn to dark poetry, probably because my own darkness resonates with it. And you will always have my love & support, dear Brad. ❤
I like this dark side, very interesting and powerful. So well done my friend,
All the best,
FBC.
Thank you my friend!
You’re very welcome my friend!
a dark poem for sure; powerful imagery…
Thanks Jim! Just a little travel outside the rut!
change is always good…
Powerful writing, Brad. So much to like about your strong word choices with this one.
Thank you, Pete. Very kind of you to say. I appreciate you, my friend!