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Image for the poem Throb

Throb

A pulse resounding through the walls
Wretched vocals, drums of blight
Some language from worlds unknown
But words suggesting pure spite
 
The locution slowly clarifies
Backed by heavy metal spiked with rap
Through the wall an incoherence
A potent blend now fit to scrap
 
He believes quiet to be precious
Though not comprised of gold
So anything to halt the throb
Before his jet black wings unfold.
Written by crowfly
Published
Author's Note
Suggested by the garbled tones and music heard through my northern wall.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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