a black mourning dove

just a poem

Hands of darkness grappling me,
darkness eternal becoming all,
darker than darkness these hands I see.
I was tripped just so they could watch me fall.

Cold and moist, the ground I rest,
respite but momentary,
be this some divine test?
Or is my sacrifice arbitrary?

These demons hands,
of soulless loves,
have drained my blood upon dark sands.
a strangled midnight cry ,of a black mourning dove.