Count down the seconds,
Time is a tool
of knowledge and weapon
of the worthy warriors aboveListen, they reckon
you are a fool
but hear them, they beckon
the soul of your one belovedMadness a spiral of all of these things
such as Mind, and Thought, and Word
Translation's mistake, smoke swirls
as your dream does, a terror
that dies on the verge of the absurdCall on the great ones, perhaps you will get
a reply in tones of grey,
cling onto your questions, perhaps you have met
kindred spirits that chose to prayAnd if you get eaten by a curious theory
of Cosmos or Skies or Kos,
remember that eyes never see clearly
You know better than reality doesAbandoned all things, you sit on your throne
and you mirror the ones before
it all has a price, it could be the terror
of forgetting what you have learntOh, dear student, you'll never get old
in the unending nightmare yours
surrounded again by these walls cold,
the Nightmare that gave you a causeFight here, oh student,
laugh your last vow
and ask and beg and pray
call on the great ones, perhaps you will get
a reply in tones of grey
YOU ARE READING
pissy buckets of shitty poetry
Randomim italian so there might be mistakes this shit contains everything so uhh