Black Feathers

Scattered,
and screaming, but only silence comes out.
My voice is strangled by my fear,
I am a shadow
and nothing more.
Dressing myself in feathers of black
and a gown of ash,
my eyes see only grey.
There will be no parades
for the lost,
there are only empty streets
stretching out like the spokes of the wheel.
It never stops turning,
we are crushed beneath it,
slaves to a merciless rhythm we never chose.
We cannot dance,
We cannot scream.
There is only silence,
We are only shadows.

© Copyright 2019 Wolfie von Wolfenstein III (thearcherqueen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

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