MuteA Poem by Nightwolf
I ripped the cords from my throat,
presenting them as a gift in homage to the gods of the citadel;
burying my resentment with the bones of my ancestors. I ripped the nerves from my face, offering an apathetic gaze to the wraiths that would prey on the bitterness of mute lamentation. I ripped the veins from my arm, showing the repressed tears that flowed like a creek over my wrist, into a silver phial. I dipped my quill in the phial and let the shadows hear the sound of my voice. © 2018 Nightwolf |
Stats |