Hollowed Hands

 

They don’t know what haunts your dreams

Nor do they try to pacify your feverish wake

They watch

They wait

 

A cold cruel laughter echoes against the firestone

The night calls

A howl of mourning

You lean against the wind

 

watch the finality of their words

It bites to the bone

Mocking

Hating

 

Every line of worry

A lie

Every sweet kiss of comfort

A lie

 

They call the end to come

Chanting, hollowed hands raised

Glorifying in putrid duplicity

Sneering as you fumble through your steps

 

Blood ribbons around your hand

Staining and guilty

You lose all sense of feeling

All hope of seeing

 

Light lances through your veil

A hand outstretched

A golden glow

To pull you on your feet

Author's Note

Let me know what you think

Reviews

[Bran the Broken]

Interesting...very vivid images, yet still vague and indefinite in terms of WHAT is going on...but hey, that's OK. the tone, the FEEL of it, is rich in horror and anger and grief and just the tiniest twinkling of hope....good write