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a field of green,
an ironed chest,
the tree there left to guard,
through seven seas,
through acres
fields,
thou shallow steps to march,
the stain is dry ,
a walk behind,
to whom is yet to yield,
the tree may guard,
but may he guard,
what he was not to see.
a weight thats worth,
the wisest words,
the iron clad may fall,
at wielders touch,
it would not move,
off strength was left no more,
an oaken limb,
a guiding strand,
what cowers underneath,
though couldn't give,
and couldn't take,
the armor it could pierce.
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YOU ARE READING
Arms no more
PoesíaI do not write on the regular, i do not sit down and do it. I lay in bed thinking and reflecting. I sit in the train, my thoughts fading through the window. I put letters on my phone screen trying to make sense. I do not have an original thought, fo...
