The clock turns with a motion of peace,
Someting the the lands will never see.
They'll age and mature over time,
but never be at peace.
Forced to be a diffrent scape by the kin it created. The very kin who honored it with glory, now cutting deep into the flesh of regret.
But with the time it has lasted,
It's misery will end soon enough.
So the lands can rest soflty as the clock turns with distress from the lost of the true one.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry in motion
PoetryIt's a book of poems I've written. They vary in topic. But I like them, so I put them here.
