The Dead

I felt him swing from the heavens, into my heart he went
And from the bowels of the netherworld, my soul came to ascent
Our orbits must have collided, I have been feeling him ever since
Collecting more than fraying feathers, I’m not that innocent

Watching him grow cold and devilish, while following his gradual descent
Vision crossing planks of inability, I cannot stop these events
Burning chains on regret, dragging around feet like they are blocks of cement
The weight of consequence in this pit, the dead can still lament

© Delia Ross. 2020

Dreams, no not tonight
Dreams, no not tonight…

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