The Black Flute

Your pitch a spell beyond mere witch my urgent itch becomes thy stitch the color hides in blackest shade still same old tune her symphony played screeching notes soon to shoot beware the music of the devils root her sound is sweet intentions mute don't be swayed by Satan's flute

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741