I took my hand and struck a mortal anvil
With it thunder was born and shook the world
It tore open a portal into the soul
That portal let loose the many
It flooded the barren lands now polluted
The first plague started this way
A wound upon the land, it is my burden
But again I strike that anvil
Again I strike the anvil that levied my spirit
Again I create the thunder of malice
Let loose the waves anew
Don't you see?
But don't you see?
It's all for a purpose, a gain at the end of time
I create
I found
I am the murderer
I am the slain
I am all that they would be
I am that which they will become
I am everything
And I'm buried out to a sea I create
An endless sea of no purpose
For purpose is in me
And I can't break it out
YOU ARE READING
Lines
RandomA mess of stuff that won't fit elsewhere. Some are pretty absurdist, no direct continuity unless stated (doubtful on that, these are meant to be one-off poems/stories). I like to explore different styles of writing in small works like this, so some...
