Torture
The mist is low, drifting like smoke
As a shroud, envelopes him
Wrapped in a cloak
In his mind, he carries his sin.
Forehead creased in a frown
Trees, leafless, ahead
Eyes cast down
Pointing to a trail of dread
thoughts whirling in his head
words mumbled, nothing said
Through this greying cloud
A song once sung
Words tumble, not out loud
cold mist in his lungs
Sightless, groping
For the future
Hoping
Slow walk, torture
Trees old and gnarled
Bowed by winds
Under breath he snarled
Yelling at the tree
Shifting listless
What is life to me?
Falling into the pits
Darkness surrounds
Where the devil sits
Heartbeat pounds
poem by Robert Green
Added by Poetry Lover
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