Tithe

In wanton temples
Eyeless snakes writhe
Inside corrupt, rotten gods
Soul less they devise demise
Who may rise to Light
Against such a cold
Hollow Night
With broken fingers
Given as tithe



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 485 times
Written on 2017-12-01 at 15:32

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