Topic: Blood On His Hands | |
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He heads towards the sea to wash his hands,
Thickly called dirt covers his skin, Grains crust and crumble falling behind, Bread crumbs trailing back to the crime. Sanguine foot prints look black in the night; They follow him from hell beyond. His shadow flees hiding from street lights, Leaving him lonely as day dawns. He inhails, smells sulfur in damp air, Ocean salt and rust as he nears. Thick mist embraces him in the night, Fog hides him from his deepest fears. Silent black tides broke by crashing waves, An errie laugh, but no one's there. The moons reflection beckons him home, A golden path through the unknown. A cherry glows near faceless figures, Stars hauntingly leer the dead. He feels every heart beat thump through him As he replays scenes in his head. He needs to make it to the sea to go home again, To be baptized beneath cool waters washing away his sins |
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Nice poem .
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