Poems from huntergate
What is Death?
An Escape? A Release?
A way to leave
This awful place?
A way to free you
From your soul?
An hourglass’s
Final toll?
What is...
My room is a graveyard
Full of decay
Hopes, Dreams, Regard
Slowly wasting away
My bed is my coffer
The Final resting mound
A pillow my...
Our bodies are a canvas
Sculpting what we see
A constant work in progress
Molding to what people want us to be
We act as an easel
Allowing...