Walking past a familiar room, Knowing it isn’t that empty tomb. You stare in front to see ahead, There’s nothing there but what should be said, Blame is not yours to take. The relics of a tempestuous earthquake, May strip you of the ardent splendor. The guilty’s smoke transform’s your corridor. Ignorant to the guileful fire, You’re a victim of your obliging desire Agony with each sweltering breath, A pain so evident, it could be death. Impossibly your fault! But a fate of this twisted assault. Like a thief in the black night, Not recognized until the shed of light. It’s hard to believe the things you build end rotting in decay. Detesting the shameful ravage, you search for a way. Giving and then more you give, Snared by the one who on greed can unyieldingly live.
Reason for writing:
None given
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