Amidst the mist of mystery, o'er the dark land of blistery,
there laid eyes of bright vigor, eyes spilling of constant abhor,
for evil's victory wrought its treachery to its history.
Eyes that once soared with love and life now engulfed with an endless war.
Yet within, it longed for peace.
The peace, peace that once furled the azure light upon our world,
was now lost with blood and bone, buried under the throne of wrath,
for war crushed the last of our light we bathed ourselves in and there furled.
The flames of war we swore to kill betrayed our trust for t'was our wrath-
our offspring that caused our cease.
Flames engulfing, flesh now rotting, pain now burning, Hatred pulsing,
We grope for the lost land of peace, now matted with its own corpse.
Where is the light and life now evil is pulsing and compulsing?
Where Evil bore its mark o'er love, matting us with its wretched thorps.
There Evil's stench ruled o'er peace,
masking us with our own mist.
The mist of our own Hatred.
YOU ARE READING
ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ
PoetryLife and Death; Joy and Sorrow. They're just two wings to the same body.
