Untitled 1

Mon, 06/20/2022 - 12:50 -- Creator

Darkness knocks the door 

Weeping dust sing from the floor 

Windows clash with scents of blood 

Seers fear the time than Fear feared the past 

The same season shall last 

With one fashion it shall reign with weather 

The four will be one 

Numbers will be no more

Hunger will feed dead passions 

Death would be dead 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741