What Is Real
Profoundly, shallow, hollow and empty.
Demons set a blaze,
corrupted winds of time and change,
as angels see phantoms,
roaming the earth,
whimpering away,
these things are alive in my dreams.
Poetry billows across the land,
poems of untold, unsung, unknown,
put in the cauldron to burn,
ashes swept up by haunted souls,
to put forth another rhyme,
as angels cry,
these things are a live in my dreams.
Skeletons succumb to empty coffins,
one more time,
apparitions glitter in old haunted houses,
as snow flakes fall,
these things are alive in my dreams.
The devil well be seen on unmarked graves,
as the vampire seeks to find more red blood,
bats fly over the moon,
lighting ripps at the dark open sky,
gargoyles give the evil eye,
and the grim reaper,,
stands by my side,
these things are alive in my dreams...
By starstruck13
© 2009 starstruck13
(All rights reserved)
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