He shakes the walls with a voice that trembles and splinters into flesh.
Hold out the hand of mercy.
Winds hold a child sleeping.
He moves through the colors of broken glass.
Tears are forming.
Storms are mourning.
His heart only beats when a flower is growing.
Lone feelings.
Keeps on beating.
He touches a blade fresh of a morning’s dew.
Plants are singing,
Choices are bleeding.
His final breath awakens what is hidden behind every lie.
Growing wild,
The listless child.
He is asleep, through the loudest of cries.
All wicked sleep tonight.
But do not forget his lullaby.
For fears never sleep,
As they are alive.
About the Creator
A. Raphael
Poetry is my first love, and writing words onto paper is my therapy. Maybe my submissions will make you feel something, too.
If you find something in my words, then it is my pleasure.
A. Raph
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