We are the agents of despair knocking on your door.
If you answer you will see a sickle and scythe,
We are not malicious nor will we come after your children,
We will leave that torture to society.
We are the agents of despair,
Knocking upon an old man's door.
Bound to a wheelchair and breathing device.
He is harmless and feeble but has lived a good life.
But ask him what he did with his fascist uniform from 1944.
We are the agents of despair opening the gates to swollen oceans
and burning skies.
People may fear us but we are just the beginning,
The real beasts have only begun to take shape and awaken.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
Every summer he would send her letters. Evelyn was thrilled when they arrived. The anticipation of receiving them after the long winter woul...
-
He told me I would always remind him of autumn. The way the leaves turned, the line between decaying leaves and cool breezes, the way the fo... -
At night, the stairs of this old house creaks Whispering to me, sweet spirit sleeping soundly during the night. The shadow movements, the ...
No comments:
Post a Comment