My son
I will tell you to be weary
Of those-who-walk-on-two-feet
They can be crude
They can be rude
But it is true, they'd be shrewd
They have a way
To find their prey
Using, some say, magical weapons
You need to know
None of this, though
Is as real as your string of bear claws
Open your cage
Turn a new page
Look for your way, forget your rage
Follow the Sun
You're not a pawn
Forge your future in this Dark Age
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Aftershots
PoetryWhen Poetry meets Science Fiction. A series of sci-fi inspired poetry...
