Rust

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by twowolves80, Mar 1, 2016.

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  1. twowolves80

    twowolves80 Darkness Incarnate; don't even bother

    Rust
    The cycles of life, each different for all,
    mine is weather blackening, and I heed it's call.
    Inside I am hollow and yet filled with dust,
    It's okay, it's all right. It's just my rust.

    A wasted life, realized too late
    a journey through wastelands, filled with hate.
    A king Midas filled with worldly lust,
    but everything I touch only turns to rust.

    Anger and rage and anguish and shame,
    these are my calling cards, my dying name.
    Never to succeed, yet try I must,
    worry not, my son, it's just my rust.

    Nothing goes right when my hand is there,
    though I seethe and I scream and curse the air.
    Alone through it all--it's so hard to trust--
    just another sign of the unquiet rust.

    Not a question of if, only of when,
    when I'm too tired to go on and then I will end.
    The carrion birds, too, will pick at the crust,
    of my dying breath, filled with rust.
     
    Brittless and ThePhantomLady like this.
  2. ThePhantomLady

    ThePhantomLady Safety and Support SF Supporter

    Thank you for sharing this, beautiful work!
     
    twowolves80 likes this.
  3. twowolves80

    twowolves80 Darkness Incarnate; don't even bother

    Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it!
     
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