Alone at War

The shallow army of demons that calls itself Love

Marches as one

Seeking to destroy the innocence

Of the blind and the pure.

The slithering serpent of lust

Watches with eyes aglow

On its prey

And lures it in with the beauty of its cruelty.

The blood of the weak and dependent

Flows through the cracks in the floor

As the hearts of the strong are crushed

By the silence of their lovers.

The wolve's howls are drowned out

By the cries of the broken hearts

And the memories

Of their desires.

But as in all wars

Life goes on

To mend one's own heart

So it can be destoryed once again.

The End

3 comments about this poem Feed