Array ( [sid] => 184830 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Mute [time] => 2018-01-31 11:28:27 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I ripped the cords from my throat,
presenting them as a gift
in homage to the gods of the citadel;
burying my resentment
with the bones of my ancestors.

I ripped the nerves from my face,
offering an apathetic gaze
to the wraiths that would prey
on the bitterness of mute lamentation.

I ripped the veins from my arm,
showing the repressed tears
that flowed like a creek
over my wrist, into a silver phial.

I dipped my quill in the phial
and let the shadows hear
the sound of my voice. [comments] => 6 [counter] => 93 [topic] => 13 [informant] => nightwolf [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Mute


Mute
Date: Wednesday, 31st January 2018 @ 11:28:27 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: nightwolf
I ripped the cords from my throat,
presenting them as a gift
in homage to the gods of the citadel;
burying my resentment
with the bones of my ancestors.

I ripped the nerves from my face,
offering an apathetic gaze
to the wraiths that would prey
on the bitterness of mute lamentation.

I ripped the veins from my arm,
showing the repressed tears
that flowed like a creek
over my wrist, into a silver phial.

I dipped my quill in the phial
and let the shadows hear
the sound of my voice.

This poem is Copyright © nightwolf


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