deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Hunger

You ask, “Why does this not kill me?”  
I reply, “Consider nightfall;  
why does it suffer so a peaceful birth,
day illume nothing into terminal crisis,
Steel to it’s confederate ideal.”
How wise were they whose stage lay them down into water,
Into madness immortal  
Who saw what little of life they could
Arranged here, in corners
over rounds of epical war.
Written by Perdition
Published | Edited 18th Oct 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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