A Game of Murder

There is an evil amongst the stones,

It thrives on living dead,

It takes the hearts that once called gold;

Changes to burn instead.

 

A castle built upon the dirt,

Does not change its face;

So the hurtful thing appears,

It does not change its place.

 

A person called upon the right,

Can make a tumbling step,

As if they’ve been tricked somehow,

The end up in the depth.

 

And depths of glory, so it seems,

Are now boiled in reverse,

One glance upon the façade shows

They’re not what seems at first.

 

It is the demon in golden robes,

It sneaks its way in so,

To form a nest upon one’s heart,

It will not break or go.

 

That castle, once, it tumbles down,

Its sturdy roots are ruined,

No-one can be the same since

The evil birds have flown.

 

What could be said to change the way

It thieves away the good?

For no matter how much is tried,

It cannot change if one would.

 

Hark! Hear it creeping nearer still:

The smell of death profound,

It comes to claim our tender hearts…

Emotions flip without a sound.

The End

104 comments about this poem Feed