Birthmarks

Words of long ago

Burn to the God of War,

And return as the King of Hell,

To imprint scars,

Shaped like birthmarks.

 

The newborn cries,

Not from fresh air bursting its lungs,

But from the birthmarks,

Soaked in black.

 

“The scars of the past,

Become the scars of the future,”

Says the Devil.

 

“Unless we break the cycle,”

Whispers the Angel.

 

 

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s