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. Rose
Hello readers, I hope you are all enjoying the content I have created for you. I would love to hear your feedback, any is appreciated! Thanks again for checking out my stories,
A. Rose
Comments (1)
The intensity and vivid imagery in your words are truly captivating. The way you describe the voice shaking the walls and the delicate moments like touching a blade fresh with morning dew creates a powerful contrast. The fusion of nature and emotion, from storms mourning to a heart beating with the growth of a flower, is beautifully portrayed. It's a poetic journey that lingers in the mind. Well done.