Prompt:
In the suffocating dark, where sorrows seep,
Lurks a dirge that does not let the wounded sleep.
Underneath the moon's accusing, pallid glare,
Voices moan a chorus of unending despair.
Eyes that weep but never close in rest,
Stare out into blackness, eternally oppressed.
Grief hangs heavy like chains of lead,
Wrapping the soul in shrouds of dread.
Each heartbeat a throb of relentless pain,
A constant reminder of dreams slain.
Screams echo in the hollow night,
A symphony of horror, of blight.
Fear grips with icy, merciless hands,
As time slips through like vanishing sands.
The air, a thick fog of desolation,
Breathes life into every aborted aspiration.
Tears, bitter, flow in ceaseless streams,
Carrying the debris of shattered dreams.
In the depths of despair, where all fears meet,
Hope dies quietly, in defeat.
This is the valley where joy is foreign,
Where light fades and shadows embolden.
Hear the wails of those who’ve lost their way,
Bound to night, barred from day.
So mourn, for the world cares not for your tears,
In the relentless march of the unfeeling years.
Cry, till you can cry no more,
In this land bereft of lore.
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Prompt: "In the suffocating dark, where sorrows seep,
Lurks a dirge that does not let the wounded sleep.
Underneath the moon's accusing, pallid glare,
Voices moan a chorus of unending despair.
Eyes that weep but never close in rest,
Stare out into blackness, eternally oppressed.
Grief hangs heavy like chains of lead,
Wrapping the soul in shrouds of dread.
Each heartbeat a throb of relentless pain,
A constant reminder of dreams slain.
Screams echo in the hollow night,
A symphony of horror, of blight.
Fear grips with icy, merciless hands,
As time slips through like vanishing sands.
The air, a thick fog of desolation,
Breathes life into every aborted aspiration.
Tears, bitter, flow in ceaseless streams,
Carrying the debris of shattered dreams.
In the depths of despair, where all fears meet,
Hope dies quietly, in defeat.
This is the valley where joy is foreign,
Where light fades and shadows embolden.
Hear the wails of those who’ve lost their way,
Bound to night, barred from day.
So mourn, for the world cares not for your tears,
In the relentless march of the unfeeling years.
Cry, till you can cry no more,
In this land bereft of lore."
Artist
