black hole

when sands run out, our dwelling place, our fate;

numb den of darkness, of hollow hearts and gangrene love;

rigormortus exodus from life into hades;

each of our names engraved on tables of rubies and amethyst, crowned in the dining hall of Valhalla;

Illuminated black at Reaper’s helm, purgatory echoes the final wails;

the final fall.

Cold abyss.



This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , by melfunktion. Bookmark the permalink.

About melfunktion

Love child of a lover & a thinker, elegantly flawed, anti-socialite, curious, purveyor of Africanism, a life seeped in music, unashamed soliloquist, androgynous feminist, always dancing on the inside, flowers in hair, heart on sleeve, breathe to create, create to breathe, perpetual goofball, graceful klutz, stars & scars, beats & bars, just a human, being.

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