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
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
A Thousand Miles, which
was posted on Mar 21, 2011 by
CurasiTayo.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"Our Death is wrought from silver smiles,
With a fake look of a thousand miles."
This poem is filed under:
Abstract
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