Decay
Life isn't the only one worth living. We all serve in death, too.
Upon here I lay, victim of death and decay, I will be of great use to many.
I'll be their home. I'll be their food. Through generations of them, the testament of time I stood.
But now I lay. That's all I do. Mighty I was, but now a corpse, it's true.
Of life I was given. Of lives I helped to provide. Even in the moments after, I continue to do so, I must confide.
Yet, I am no secret, though the dead do not talk. My voice will no longer be heard on a walk.
Here, I lay.
About the Creator
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More stories from Thavien Yliaster and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler5 days ago in Fiction
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Excellent!!!💖💖💕