Dead

Bound by funeral thirst

To feed on death and horror.

I hate that which made me,

And curse what I am given.

 

I know only fear,

I sow only destruction.

No good thing is within me.

Only that which tears at heartstrings.

 

We are drawn by the taste of blood.

Though it is seldom enough.

We hopeless beings are enticed,

By the tearing of limb from limb.

 

In such lost and hopeless times,

We cling to our hopeless designs.

We, I most of all, deserve nothing,

Except to be torn asunder by beasts,

And cast into the sea.

 

My only hope, upon which all my assurance rests,

Is that my Maker is graciously unfair.

Reviews

[Rachel DeHart]

.... Again, you are showing more you. I love it.

"My only hope, upon which all my assurance rests,
Is that my Maker is graciously unfair."
And those two lines... I don't know. Just.

Tim, you're in fact fantastic. And I adore all of your poetry because of that. And right now i wish I had half the strength and faith that just pours from you.