Thea Pound Poems

Nothing but a cold darkness here,
Since the sun died out;
Just ruthless dreams of a hopeless hope,
A cruel fate, framed by doubt.
...

Let us wear a mask of calm,
Below the surface seething,
No flicker can show, no eyes may glow,
Steady my rhythm of breathing.
...

Is it not so, That we have fallen,
Almost deafened to The Calling,
Our cenotaph, such great glass columns,
In the urban jungle Sprawling.
...

I wear a face, when I step outside.
A mask. Persona. I am not myself.
I seem calm; nothing touches me.
The barrier waivers. The mask smiles on.
...

Devour me, my love;
I desire to never part from you,
I desire to be a part of you,
And only you. Always.
...

Macabre are my verses;
Have you ever wondered why,
I always speak of heurses,
And those destined to die?
...

This is my stronghold,
Where I contain my fears,
To hide that which has haunted me,
And festered through the years;
...

It fractures at even the lightest touch,
My aspirations cast in crystal glass;
Precious pieces turned to razors,
Delicate dreams not built to last.
...

They sharpen up the blades,
And scheme their bitter schemes,
They spread malice and lies,
For those with different dreams.
...

Another night in this grim city;
A monster out there walking,
Engrossed deep in your vices,
And with the victim you are stalking.
...