Monday, 9 October 2017

The Slaughter House
















Upon the darkened mountain
Rested a little house
Each passer by called it
The slaughter house.

No one lived there
By the nights.
Only spirits untamed
Walking in and out.

By day the sun soaked
The blood pools 
Leaving nothing behind
To doubt.

Nobody knew
who killed whom.
Where does the corpse hide
Only the staunch smell of flesh...

 Flows away...everywhere.

image :arquapetrarca.info