And with a raptured push so sudden,
the scenery prepares itself to change.
Wherefore, in the hills saddened,
sits the wailing girl within range.
For the bazar of the lands of terror,
of whose power is held by the archer.
Here hovers the magnificence of the bow,
upholding the spotlight of an imperial show.
Now watch as the neighborhood does come,
whilst sits the king on their twiddling thumb.
For the silence that wills succumb to is drastic,
and there stays decaying shards of hearts in plastic.
Tumbling into the vortex filled with madness,
of which terrorize all the woes who cry in sadness.
But soft, and see and hear the girl who maims,
pretty for the archer who, at she, he aims.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
