In the Key of your Favorite Psalm

In the Empty scapes of constant change
Wandering thoughts will find no rest.
Nothing’s meaningless from my own choice
But my dry-lonely cracked-solemn voice
Could never explain.

Blacken ashen halls
Will devour us all,
By the closing in of walls
In our dark twisted home.
and we’re alone.


 

So, who wants to play house with me?
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Filed under poetry, writing

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