Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash
Here lies a collection
of self dug graves
from the tangled webs they wove.
Strings of lies
strung through the delicate fragile panes
of broken glass house windows.
Infamy pours wine
to sip slow
and savor
while gazing over
rows of barren tombstones.
No one places flowers here.
Respect is earned
not
freely given,
if you didn't know then,
now you know.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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Comments (3)
Wow, this is incredibly powerful. The imagery of self-dug graves and broken glass houses perfectly captures the consequences of deceit. And that ending...chilling, and absolutely true. 🌞
Wow! Quite the flare for the dramatic, I love it! A very grave poem indeed!
Fabulous 👏