Emperor Of Thought
E
Emmanuel George Cefai
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Wanderer
In the fields and
Lanky realms of
Midnight hormones.
Night has come
The marches in the cemeteries
With torches and flambeaux.
A martyr
Slides
With wounds
Down to the floor
Blood
Red
Dripping from
Everywhere
Pity weeps
An assassin with open eyes
Dagger in hand.
My Monsignor.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş