WIP: Her Old Bones, Goodbye Moon Men
He/They/Em
All My Favorite Writers are Dead.
Towers constructed to rejoice
Those left standing
Despite knowing that
Delay is nothing
And worth its weight in air
Futility uncared for
The toil of today unreturned
It burdens the burned
And spares those already
Turned to dust
The dead.
#poem #poetry
Like the rage of a neglectful God
Bearing down
With infinite wrath
The shrapnel of destruction carried
Over divine flatness
Holy glacial plains swirling
Churning
Racing like the blades
Of a billion knives loosed
At every angle
From the sky
#poem #poetry