These hellish features
What beautiful deathly plains!
So old, desolate
Reaping orange soil
The harvest is quite complete
Fruits of demon spawn
So far, so alone
Can't recall my memory
Of a human soul
Wind sweeping past caves
Spilling sand, dust, iron ore,
Bones, blood, rust and gore
The flames lick the air
Hungry as they seek the fuel
Carved of human musk
Water can't dilute
The starving flames, flying through
The plains of macabre
Ryrerah is done
Close the circle, dim the fire
And 'so mote it be'!
YOU ARE READING
constantly blooming.
Poetry'i will never stop blooming, like an eternal rose of flame... i may have my times of smolder and small sparks, but i will always become a huge inferno in the end... and nothing can stop me.' Collection of poetry and prose between the ages of 10-15...
