Stricken
The tainted wound prepares to bleed,
A broken heart, a broken dream.
Dark blood flows, rolls down, secretes,
As blood dies, the heart is freed.
The shadowed mind holds fast its cage,
Free the heart, or face the blade.
What a snare this world has made
By passing on its deadly trade.
A broken heart, a broken dream.
Dark blood flows, rolls down, secretes,
As blood dies, the heart is freed.
The shadowed mind holds fast its cage,
Free the heart, or face the blade.
What a snare this world has made
By passing on its deadly trade.
♠ ♠ ♠
One of my few poems that I didn't write about myself. It's about a character in a story that is likely to be rewritten before it is updated.