We come to an alter to be sacrificed;
As a devotional and bravado crew
That bellows a far cry of bliss.
The worth of being slain
For a greater and illustrious purpose
Where two parts become one
And one becomes crumbled ash blossoms
In the rising-sweltering sun
Its a large chip on our shoulder.
The shackles and weight of the folly lads and lassies
Such a treasure of pure gold
To die by fire is of greater comfort
Even if the end leads to the betrothed.
YOU ARE READING
The Neo-Bipolar
PoetryIm actually terrified to share this stuff with you all. I struggle with a lot of demons and really just need the support and superficial attention that I lack. This is continued poetry from bipolar poems, just a new me, some newer thoughts, feelings...
