PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

After the quietest day on the darkest night,

When the air is moist and still.

No sound to be heard, no sight but the sky,

No feeling but an unsettling chill.

Your words linger off all knowings of trust.

All hope was left in my cure.

Whisper these harsh words if you must,

How you wish my blood wasen't yours.



For my body is cold and my blood is dried,

And my corpse lay still in abyss.

With a dagger in my hand and a tear in my eye,

You hoped it would end like this.



The dust from the dirt billows into the sky.

The moonlight reflects off the tombs.

The branches and leaves are left crisp and dry.

Beneathe are bones sentenced to doom.

longing for my suffering, for the venom to dry.

Hoping i'm too far gone to save.

Watching the poison with a close eye,

So you could make me turn in my grave.



For my body is cold and my blood is dried,

And my corpse lay still in abyss.

With a dagger in my hand and a tear in my eye,

You hoped it would end like this.



Silence is pierced by a screaching scream.

Crows fly off branches in flocks.

The place for the dead is no longer serene,

And the dagger suddenly drops.

You waited and waited and waited and prayed.

Your intentions were misconcieved.

You made each of us die in our own little way,

Adorning to bring false belief.



For my body is cold and my blood is dry,

And my corpse lay still in abyss.

With a dagger in my hand and a tear in my eye,

You hoped it would end like this.



Yes with that dagger in my hand and a tear in my eye,

You prayed for my suicide.