I am the chronicler,
a mere eye to the flames that blaze,
a burnt finger to the roads it glaze.
oh, sweet sky and the storms you call,
the words can't wait for the pen to recall—
how many trees uprooted,
how many sighs heaved,
how many suns more 'til the demons leave?
I am history,
once an echo to a hollow shell
once forgotten in distaste to dwell
oh, calamitous waves, when will you calm?
the shores have been craving for anchors to come.
the sands unstepped, the stones unturned,
they will keep on reminiscing every single burn
dealt by the blows of history itself.
I am the bystander,
a witness to the crimes,
the audience that claps for every single rhyme,
oh, mischievous fate, the turmoil that you bring
when will your moody wheel stop its turn at me?
'til the end, I'll be waiting and seeing it all
happen to others while I still recall
and count the glowing threads weaved,
in awe,
in envy,
indifference.
YOU ARE READING
kinesus: a poetry collection
PoetryWords, how I love them, especially when my heart weaves them into verses that mirror facets of life, most I have worn and seen, some I merely envision. Regardless, the words brought me here, the same way it brought you to me. This is kinesus, a coll...
