We are brewing a very slow storm, under toe and over head, to destroy all that we have worked for: becuase we dont see what deriction we are workin toward.


slow tasks of an infinite heartache

soar hardships of sarrow filled winds
70 mph man made and full of intensity

sky chalked with smoke
the thunder makes the forest choke

frantic the animals panic
there senses warn them of the static

energy building as the storm approaches
in comes quick as it incrouches

stand tall in front of the catatstraphe
trust me, you must trust me

its going to be an on going battle know
the fierce pride of man knew how

and we did and we will and we wont stop
till we die off or evolve to the top

seeds planted from creation
to grow into descruction

the intensity is upon us and we shall parish
why did we say Good bye to the things we charish?

surivival not a skill of commen thing
with this skill you are know overpowering

one up ahead of the struggle
we no longer have structure at an angle

its time for the new age cowboy
guns of glory blaze and is time to deploy

this time its a world war this storm was made by mankind
damned if we didnt put ourselfs into a archiologic find




Poetry by cory Crook
Read 550 times
Written on 2007-09-08 at 12:01

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