Way down we all fall.
No longer able to stand tall.
The dead made their call.
But what we had design,
Wasn't a world that'd shine.
With war ourselves we'd align.
Calling ourselves men of god.
Yet our thinking is flawed.
I'm sure he thinks of us odd.
And at men, our own race we tread.
Becuase were afraid, to be dead.
What sort of thing have we shed?
We as a race, will not survive.
Although now we thrive.
Into the storm we will dive.
Way down we go.
You won't know.
Yet I still try to show.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryPoetry with various ideas and different backrounds. Please leave comments on anything I can improve on. Also let me know that you want, more poems and if they're good. Thank you fellow readers. And fellow writers- Rtue writers don't find creativity...
