A short poem about delusion.

Wicked runs the dark thoughts which haunt.

Torturous are the ideas which are illuminated.

Shallow falls the edge as laughter dies.

Alone is the dread of the damned and weary.

Hope is an illusion for the comfort of the weak.

Darkness draws closer and closer still.

Moments pass like a wounded angel’s fall.

Unknown is the dread of the lost and confused.

0
Liked it
Leave a Comment
comments powered by Disqus

Hi there!

Hello! Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!

Find the Spot

Loading