A Thousand Miles

Our Death is wrought from silver smiles,
With a fake look of a thousand miles.

Day dawn on bloodshed land,

No life is fixed in our hands.

A single knife wrapped in red,

Bleeds the hearts that have been kept.

 

My joke is seen in red and green,

Something hates, a crack between.

Our Death is wrought from silver smiles,

With a fake look of a thousand miles.

The End

3 comments about this poem Feed