The dawn was edging upon,
Yet the daggers stuck to the palms,
It had to fall with crimson,
Had to end in finality,
And nooses may wait,
Yet the transgression was a ditch,
Bottomless and grim,
A final marker of doom,
Just not a massacre,
But a casual shade to dignity,
To breathing and to happiness,
So the foot creaked ahead,
A lunge came,
Sidestepped,
A hole in the heart I dug,
Vengeance spilled,
And for my beat I gave a shrug.
No comments:
Post a Comment