Build from bricks of the known,
Construct yourself from marrow to bone,
Take all you love and make it yours,
Establish your land from fields to shores.
They may say your heart has been dyed black,
And any gleam of hope was meant to crack,
Yet your soul is your own, so never condone,
Slay them all, steal their gold and claim their throne.
From the ashes they will make a desperate call,
String them up with stitches, let them die alone,
Pretend you can't hear their song, can't hear them at all,
Keep them imprisoned, until that place becomes their gravestone.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy and Prose
Thơ caContaining songs, dreams, poems, and prose, this is a collection of my inner-most ramblings. When I need to unwind, I write.
