| » Poem: The undead metaphore |
The undead metaphore
written by Genocide Reaper03:31 PM 2/9/05| Can you hear me? Am I really that weak? That my voice has started to break. I'm sitting in a corner reading letters, I just can't seem to get the message. Do you think Hell is full of the un-dead? The sun will burn us all, the moon will start to call. The stars are crying, like you are inside. The unforgiven are crawling. And here we sit. In a corner waiting. Take a walk with me, let me ask a question. Do you believe, prosperity is earned through selling your soul? Or hard worked dedication? Time to start the reaction. If you think you need to start the Sell, and give it all to a self induced Hell. I think its time for a retraction. The clouds bleed, as we stand out in the wide open, here we are. Standing in the middle of darkness where my demon dwells. Speaking to a deaf person isn't working out for me! and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to help you see! The ground has frozen us in our footsteps, what am I to do? I can't seem to get past that wall and talk to you. So, in this frozen field, we'll wait for the sun, to char my soul, consume my body, and send my ashes into the wind. |
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