I. Nothing More.

I. 

A running vestige 

Of the world left behind,

Know nothing of

What is

Chasing.

 

I.

The crying of the sun

As it bleeds towards the trees

Begging for a mercy

That will never

Come.

 

I. 

Degenerated, forgotten; erased

On the planes of the ocean

Cold and swift in

Waves of another

World.

 

I.

A piece of nothing,

The dirt under a foot,

The root that trips a watcher,

The bringer of the dark.

 

I.

A human,

An unwise protector,

The unhealer of worlds,

The stepping stone

Of nothing.

 

I.

Blinded by darkness,

Seeing the light in nothing,

Frowned upon by Zeus 

and Olympus, and all

Of the worlds combined.

 

I.

Human.

Nothing.

More or less

Caring,

I,

The root

To build on--

Lost in the

Traces of

Soil soiled.

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed