Sit down, my friend,
Have a glimpse-- a man in a suit;
Freedom, glory, and the end,
He speaks, out his mouth is soot.
Beckon by the islands-- a paradise;
Beckon by the peace-- doves, flying;
His mouth playing like notes; rolling the dice,
With a breath that smelled burning.
He has soldiers, whom he speaks of harmony;
Guns with bullets,
Rooftops on basements, dust as ebony
as the man's soul be.
He will lead us,
Towards a place he claims,
Where chandeliers turn to dust
And no more fires at aim.
Laugh, dear people,
Have a glimpse,
He now sits-- perched on ripple,
Of the skull he called devils.
YOU ARE READING
Petals & Dust
PoetryP E T A L S flaking away from my soul, waking me up to the truth. Soiling the ground beneath it; carcasses fragile and hollow. D U S T blown away by the winds, feathering out of sight; the crust, silently creeping away, crowning the sadness I utte...
