The final day of the first week and I feel as if I’ve managed to achieve quite a bit. Thus far, I do not think that I have produced anything amazingly brilliant, but we’ve got the rest of the month for that, eh? eh? Anyhow, here is my seventh poem.
At the very edge of the world
Where civility runs, hard pressed, into caverns
To hides itself from they who know it not
We enter this here western land
Branded barbarians inciting their animalistic heraldry
As sweat kisses blood in the land of blades
Where death and decay are immortalised
In the everyday style of stagnation
Penned by poets who knew it but through dreaming
A wise man might threatened that this was our doing
A wiser woman knew that this might be our fate
For succession was broken and this century began
Wiping out crystalline history with crimson
Such cold cruelty in which we bathed
Immersion in the ecstasy of wartime bliss
Which ended in the shattering of ourselves
Who dares to claim knowledge of such a day?
When the skies screamed with a thousand shrieks
Each a life gone to our enemies, ourselves
That kingdom of monsters so low beneath our heel?
Such a fragile terms
Thanks for reading. Tell me what you think :)