Put your ear to the door,
Listen to the sounds
Of the closing Moor
And golden-bladed wounds
Put your ear to the door
And show me where its found
Show me the Pawn, the Knife,
Show me the apathy, the life
Show me the strife that never extinguished
And the blade that never stopped
The golden-bladed sword,
Midas-touched weapon
Gleams silver with moon-sliver
Slitting eyes you despise,
The Pawn, the one
Who never ceases
And his King-Knife, Midas and his diamond-embedded queen
The Moor, the world you despise,
Covered with thorns amd lies
Is hidden by a door, waiting.
Put your ear to the door,
And tell me what's before,
Listen to the roar, and
Listen to the Moor.
YOU ARE READING
Poems I made
PoetryThe poems I make up both in the bathroom and during school/study time (oh god the first few are the worst)[This is mostly for me to keep track of my poetry progress and how many poems I've made]
