The Awakening
Early morning mistslithering through the sunrise
morning day
Saviours lost and hidden
away from living men
the day in someway
has faded to grey
and will never come back again.
Demons waiting patiently
while singin in the mist
'bout all the horrible things
that I would wish could not exist.
Angels choir comes into the blur,
the uprising message of life,
The noise is overwhelming now,
I can end it with my knife.
But the knife is a holy weapon
which only can be used a few times
to slit your throats, you sorry goats,
and I can, 'cause my poetry rhymes.
Poetry by Eron Olivier Braden
Read 903 times
Written on 2006-03-13 at 03:03
Tags Knife  Pain  Insane 
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