Sam is Lucifer's vessel, Dean is Michael's sword
But they won't get the brothers without their word
Angels goading them constantly to accept for consent
But the brothers wouldn't say yes, never let their wills bent
.
It's what you were born for, destiny has already decided
They reasoned, they rambled, they repeatedly said
The war will be bloody, sure, millions will be dead
But these are all simply some minute side effects
.
But it was all simply for their sick little entertainment
To solve a petty family feud, war to their own fulfillment
A pyrrhic victory, but surely now they would never get ahead
For Sam and Dean would never break even if it means death.
YOU ARE READING
To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)
PoetrySupernatural poems that I write when all the: -massive emotional damage -overwhelming crack -severe obsession -rare inspiration -demon possessing me is too much to handle. 50% feels, 50% crack, 100% trash. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! ××× ...
