Poetry
lets have a bit of poetry here.
All’s not clear, this pain I smear, across the brow of a love so dear
And in such haste, much time I waste, in a quarrel of real distaste.
What say you? My heart is true, as true of the seed of love that grew,
Yet clouds have formed, this seed is scorned, and the time of doubt has dawned.
Tears of rage, have sealed the cage, encasing doom and the murk of an age
The night it creeps, the chill cuts deep, the soul of a seed still weeps
A hoot of an owl, deaths on the prowl, to the chorus of doom incarnates howl
I run for my life, yet such pace has this strife, and the stench of decay is rife
What of this seed? This beacon I need, amidst the thorns and dirt that I heed
Shrouded in flames, this evil it maims, in the midst of despicable games
Forces of night, have stolen my fight, and with my own sinews have bound me up tight
My wits are in shreds, in hell my mind treads, as I drown in the darkest of reds
Upon a gnarled tree, the crow sits with glee, in darkness it watches ignoring my plea
For my ,
(its a work in progress).
your turn. (And do NOT say poems are the same as song writing).
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