The migty men fell
in their numbers,
a heap of bodies
and a pool of red river.
They fell by swords
and by spears,
oh,their cries rent the air,
their last audible cry
of death and fear.
They fell like logs of wood
shaking the ground,
scaring the beasts
and even the trees to their roots.
The vultures had a feast
and the earth was filled.
A recount of the day
that the earthbdrank blood.
YOU ARE READING
Words on paper
PoesiaIt's like a fire a growing flame, going higher. It is building up, an uncontrollable wild fire. It is consuming, choking, I can't breath. I've got to let it out someway, somehow, I've got to relieve this weight, I've just got to let go.
