Our World.

Wrapping itself in favor of many.
Tapping its tag to a shield paper.
Remembering the times of forgotten tales, 
Behold, it's a newcommer of sinners.

To which we owe nothing.
Too thousandths drowning.
Two dozen roses sent,
upon a draft worth defending.

It saves gold, silver and plenty.
Plates of steel, wraths made greedy.
Forks may stab the wounded,
but forteresses stand tall with an enemy.

Clueless foretold
what clueless begun.
Hearts stumble upon thunder,
sheets folded for blunder.

It's no wonder why mysterious make history.
A joke told by millions down a string,
forms laughing stocks around we sing.
Lies become books, 
theifs begin their whistles.
Pockets become cowarders,
dwindled down to their last dollar.

Seas roar their bolts
as lands destroy,
to take back what was once theirs,
and settle in to tell their story.
A cycle of generations to remember this battle.
One that never ends,
not even while in slumber.
 

◄ Split

Depression. And not the money kind. ►

Comments

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Amelia TenBrink

Sat 27th Dec 2014 06:39

I can describe it in detail if you'd like, if you can't understand what I'm talking about? In my mind it makes perfect sense. Haha. I'm sorry if it seems choppy to the readers.

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Tommy Carroll

Sat 27th Dec 2014 00:07

I have difficulty getting the gist of this piece Amelia. A confusion of ideas (no bad thing) I'm grabbing at thorny vines here...but then again...Tommy

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Amelia TenBrink

Fri 26th Dec 2014 23:37

Thank you! :) Ya i fixed the errors for the copy in my journal. haha. Appreciate the feedback Graham.

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Graham Sherwood

Fri 26th Dec 2014 13:11

Reads nicely, especially v3 and v6.
A couple of typo's in v1 and v5
Well paired down this one Amelia

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