09 March 2015

Empathetic to the Dead

Dry blood shoot eyes I can't disguise
from all the times I was chastised
because I wouldn't compromise
dry bloodshot eyes, dry bloodshot eyes

Screams of the dead rang in my head
while feeling their pain as it spread
and each note was dripping with dread
screams of the dead, screams of the dead

Hearing their cries fill up the skies
recent spirits begin to rise
funny how I wasn't surprised
hearing their cries, hearing their cries

Then my heart bled a crimson red
for all the souls that got misled
tricked to going below instead
then my heart bled, then my heart bled

Copyright©2015 by Patrick B Vince

Monotetra Poem

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