Treading Pitch-Black Paths.


Speeding like a freight train,

Running from the great pain,

Ending with a jarring strain,

On Time’s last sand grain.

Sticking to the path,

Sticking to the path,

Sticking to the pitch-black path

Of His soul.

Tearing at the last Fiend

As the Devil’s scream

Echoes…

As it echoes…

As it echoes…

As it echoes…

As He echoes

In my head, in my mind

Searching for a freedom;

A freedom I can’t find.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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