A Plague Tale
Vapors rise from the burial grounds.A galloping phantom crosses the battlefield infested by wounded souls, riding over a wild black pestilent stallion of abyssal perdition.
(An epidemic of the unbearable;
Plague victims who suffer excruciating pain)
A Hand grenade and shrapnel explode and scatter in a war zone,
seconds after being passed carelessly from hand to hand (while the safety pin hung loose).
Like a baton handed over between assassins in a bloodthirsty race to commit a seemingly worthless crime.
A rain of nails is falling from the skies.
Dwarves wearing magnetic field helmets ( and producing suspicious thoughts) attract every piercing metallic drop.
Like a blindfolded, scorned archer;
(with an extraordinary intuition),
hitting a poisoned apple that he placed on top of his lover's head.
With a firm hand (after throwing the arrow without a hint of doubt).
Witches are flying over the city tonight, lurking behind a full moon, melting away under the luminescence of distant and powerful Zodiacal lights.
Like Vultures make a deafening sound from the gastric acid's gurgling movement deep in their long, emptied stomachs (as they wait for their predatory turn), hearing the sinister laughter of hyenas in the far distance who hysterically won the rivalry of digesting first a feast of putrefied flesh,
The wall clock next to the fireplace just struck midnight.
Poetry by Golden Minotaur
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Written on 2025-08-26 at 10:52
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