The Poison

The poison spills our weak undernourished minds

Spinning through our bones

Like clockwork waiting to be unwoven 

Tracking time, never ceasing, waiting 

Works unseen, whispers of the wind 

Racing through the countryside and city lights 

Laughing whispers like secrets untold 

Not to be heard 

Never understood 

 

The things our eyes leave unseen 

Pull us unto a grave methodical lull of time 

Creating the soundtracts to our lives 

Coursing over us like rivers of vanishing water 

Tainiting our skin like tides washing up on the rocks 

Wasting away

Slowly 

Agaisnt the course sands that is and will always be 

Questining our exhistence 

Was it ever truly ours?

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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