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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2081878
Honorable mention in the Whispers Of The Soul contest Round 29
Specters dance behind blind eyes,
To shout out all nightmarish cries,
In any conflicting report reprised,
They hypnotize the dim and wise,
Spelling unrecognized doom,
As apocalypse looms.

Like a spoiled child that misbehaves,
The macrocosm of oppressed slaves,
Trade morals for the luxuries craved,
And reside inside their private graves,
Their liberty waived in silent tombs,
As apocalypse consumes.

Seconds, minutes, hours, and days,
The enlightened torch remains ablaze,
To defeat the fiends that steal our gaze,
Heals our malaise in myriad ways,
Its praise is sage perfume,
As apocalypse clears the gloom.


Free Verse: Poetry that's composed of either rhymed or unrhymed lines that have no set fixed metrical pattern.


 
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My Poetry  (E)
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#2034965 by Strange Brain

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