Fate had had her made this way
Forged to fight and then to slay
Gleaming, listening, she lies in wait
Two, four, six, eight...
Fate had sculpted you of clay
Stained with a light sky-blue-grey
Tender hands don't make things to last
They all succumb to iron cast
In blood. The heart beats so soft, so light
I coated you in steel, hoping you could fight
That you wouldn't run off some starry night
And forget—the shadows—the bites
Remember dear, she still is counting down
Remember dear, before you are found
She will strike at hour eleven
One, three, five, seven...
YOU ARE READING
Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
