I overhear the cries of the martyrs,
as they recite amid to their heartsick youths.
But ne'er the orison was taken,
as they waltz round the abysm chamber.
All bind to dally an immediate role,
as the ballad, all taken was the allure.
Careless, with a glued beam,
as our spirit asks for anew.
But ne'er it was bestowed,
as we waltz round the masquerade,
with our faiths becoming nevermore.
YOU ARE READING
The Coffee Hour
PuisiWhat's up Everybody! I'm doing this out of my own interest and so in so. I'm going to be writing short stories, poems, and chat(discussing topics) on life and stuff. I hope you guys enjoy :)
