Reminiscing's of a Renegade

Leaf Eleven

THE CURSE

Beyound the lines of mans eye's, lies a terrain,

Pitched against each other, just for the fun and game.

Beyond the lines of dusk, lies the long haul of day,

Like the puppet and puppeteer, the strings pulled in one way.

A lineage unleashed, blemished and held bound,

It would ravage and tear up like a savage hound.

But broken it must,for its hold is over,

Yet still feel bonded,

In the curse.

Like a cosmic geek ,set in opposition,

We struggle to be set free, yet we get entangled with proposition.

In that dark tunnel, we glimpse light,

Our hope. that shinning sight.

However, it sometimes seem right.

Just to sit and stare into the oblivion of hopelessness,

Even it times, when we see calm and ask for forgiveness',

It seems all hope is lost.

Because, we are bonded in the ...curse.

Prowling the terrain, as the lynx,

We are trying all the way to break the jinx.

Juxtaposed, precariously between life and death,

But broken it is true genuine strife and breath.

The curse is broken, a spell relieved of its power...

The curse.

(c) Tsobaza 230507