Just a poem/song I wrote


War Monger

In a place of dying grace
Where there's very little space
Flies a murder of crows
In their black eyes
There are no lies
For the truth is laid in rows

In halls of serviceable villains
The Beast dines with fine linens
His wife with servants bell in hand
Who would have thought a war
So many would ignore
As Lord and Lady feast on the land

In a time they'll fade to dust
Their words written in rust
No more thoughts of golden grail
But unnoticed in their gardens
A new crop of beast darkens
Born to lead human youth to fail

For they breathe the dust of wars
Receive nourishment in folklores
And so they send eternal youth to die
Such they believe for greater glory
Convinced the quest is the true story
Since father to daughter, mother to son
Were first tied




Poetry by Salvatore
Read 562 times
Written on 2006-10-15 at 20:00

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