This chill that penetrates me This cold that blows through me This story that is stilled inside me The icy winds, crisp and clear, Scourge the Earth, Marauding, unchecked. No earthly tome can say What shivers the Earth has felt, When the blood runs cold When the heart beats bitter twilight the land withers the empty plains are teeming with life. Life that cares not for itself Ghosts that roam the seas are coming coming to see what the land Has done. Had. What the land has done the grasses burnt away the cities are no more Than foundations. Crumbling. The walls are dust. The trees are dust. And the wind. . . The wind carries the dust. The cold, bitter, icy wind Crystal clear, the dusts of time blow free No more.
Reason for writing:
None given
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Chris Brinkley (Cancer).