Sinister Countdown- Upon a Bank

Echos of a haunted beyond drift across this gentle shore,

Washing upon each stone like a memory at the horizon.

Each pulsing beat moving me between past and present,

Like a swinging form upon a gallows.

Dark are my eyes of late,

Keeping me here upon the water.

Swing side to side,

Like a scythe upon grass.

Cutting clean through these troubled thoughts,

Let me feel a storm roll with my depths.

Rising up as if smoke from the mount,

Oh let me burry my face within bone white hands.

That I may turn to dust and forget,

Oh to find sweet peace between these yellowing reeds.

But I am only a lone form at the waters edge,

Being esteem alive by the past.

-M.E. InkOwl


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