Blade of Existence

May 31, 2009
More by this author
Canvas grown by black abyss,
Emptied lake, yet filled with mist,
The old torn air, cut by that blade of existence.

It stabbed so deep, the blood dared shed
On our sunburnt world, still our moonlit shed
Holding worthiness and being.

Where first light dawned was our war torned fate,
Was that knife thrown, or was it fate?

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback