Apathy Poem by Lilly Rose
Apathy
Apathy is cloaked in black.
His fingers are bone, cold and lifeless.
His face is featureless, empty and careless.
Apathy is the Reaper.
For that is his form.
He comes at all hours, midnight and noon.
Sometimes he is there to play, a reminder and motivator.
Sometimes he is there to stay, Deceit and Destruction.
They are quite a pair...
Apathy is their master.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 9:57:41 AM # 1.0.0.1119
