"The jaundice of its face darkened around the widths.
The orthodox and frolicked of it, thrown decades ago.
Don't wander out, the vines pulsated through his shield.
It's cracking further over us, for we cannot wield.
Brother dearest, regrets, the deity's have not followed our request.
The splinters now wails it's lost.
Is this it, for I hear the crashing bouncing off of home.
It interrogates, the mourning must continue, soon it'll be back in the depths.
We are cornered in something larger, but be patient brother the angels will not tarnish us again.
They are light, shining on the roots.
Didn't I tell you, oh what a lovely suit.
The sound of the old whistle, travelling through a subtle bristle.
It will return, and the angels shall uplift their arrows, for it to shine.
It continues in 'his' little rhyme."
YOU ARE READING
Shattered
Poesía"She held on to the thorn knowing it would prick her, and grabbed on to it's roots knowing she would fall, but the hope that flickered in her eyes always seem to shimmer, nothing demolished it at all, she carved her art on the canvas and set the li...
