Poetry

My Doom.

They say you sense doom from far, far away.

I hadn’t.

I hadn’t seen the destruction.

I hadn’t heard the heartbreaking wails.

I hadn’t smelled the stench of unending hurt.

I hadn’t tasted the salt in the tears.

I hadn’t moved the vessel of my being,

Lying like a corpse at his feet.

I hadn’t backed away from my doom.

I hadn’t sensed.

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2 thoughts on “My Doom.

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