Stain of death.


Death upon my soul,

the muted curdle of atrocities,

link upon link that chains me to

a society that refrains me.

It pains me,

the beating of your blackened heart,

each breath you take is a stolen

beat from the life of another,

a child,

a mother,

even a brother.

You are the stain of death left behind

long after life has drained between the

cracks of enormity, a universal deformity.

Does your heart feel?

Can you comprehend a world outside

of your mottled body?

Or are you simply a puppeteers parody

lost in greys of melancholy

an ancient whisper of tainted folly.

Karen Hayward ©2016

One thought on “Stain of death.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s