The Last Smile

Posted: July 7, 2016 in Dark Poetry, Melancholy, Poetry

That cold black cloud is comin’ down. Feels like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door (Bob Dylan)


When darkness calls and death whispers

A cold breath of hell, a brush of whiskers

It’s the tapestry of life, sewn on rotting canvas

The brush is a scythe held by artistic reapears

And when the knell tolls, every smile withers.

At the cold Stygian shores, every soul quivers…



When your death is already inside you, there is nowhere to run, no escape possible.(The Crippled God)



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