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Seedling

The sound of whispers
echo endlessly
in the soul
of the damned;
unintelligible words
commingled
with toxic silence,
the mind hovering
over the void,
suspended
by a single breath
held in nervous anxiety,
awaiting the nudge
of fates hand
-the exhale-
and then,
the slow fall.

Thus is taken the will
from the life ;
thus the seedling
tears it's own roots
from the soil
-leaving itself to wilt
on the asphalt-
it's leaves turned down
hiding their faces
from the sun
they once adored;
the sun they now reject
for setting too often.
TyrannicalWorm
Written by TyrannicalWorm (Nathan A. Brock)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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