My soul craved to be the poet. My mint full of ideas, and hands of skill to bring them to life. I wanted it as much as my lungs wanted air. The sight I process has a hue that added beauty to the world I attempted again and again to describe. Pain could be shaped to a masterpiece. The poet sung to me. And my heart wanted to sing back.
But in my mouth a sword was placed, and I hope everyday not to swallow it. I was forced to be a soldier, bring down destruction on land my parents held before me. My causes were just but I was toeing the line of where the reason becomes the blame. Doing my best ti hit become the monster I took arms against. I feared it once would take hold of me and consume what left of the poet I had left. The soldier sung to me. But my heart wouldn't sing back.
Before I noticed the throne was beneath my body, I was king. Holding me back down to the land I laid waste to. They told me to rebuild and protect. I washed to destroy the seat under me and my heart was full of guilt. Everything I had done, and everything I hadn't was for everyone else but myself. The king sung to me. And I had to pick a call.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of My Minds Oddities
PoetryPoems, short stories, and other works that were stuck in my brain that I've deemed good enough to share. Trigger warnings are on parts that need them if you have any desire to skip over anything please do.
