When we are gone

throngs of thrones in lines and lines
weighted with bent, crooked backs
harvesting the innocence
punishing the earth
spreading ashes

the last candles die
their flames eat the wick
the mass is silent
no more heavenly choirs
voices lost

Hollowed halls split their shells
light penetrates the breach
quiet beams softly search
emptiness whispers a lonely song
nothing sighs



Poetry by ttius
Read 630 times
Written on 2014-03-04 at 01:01

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