WARS OF LOST
Dear heaven where are youOh flag of my native country
Your face stained with blood
Defeat makes this misery pain
Murky and obscure I drank
Through the fog the aim bombards
Their target a light in three bottles
With sails that steer towards famine
Wars of lost
For what do we perish
Heads of state bicker
Queens lost giving birth
In the shuffle marked cards
Wars of lost
When all is dead and gone then what
Nothing to salvage torn and enslaved
Freedom of speech worthless to naught
Those thrown in prison sell the soul
Hell where is your thorn and dagger
Death remains too eager for chance
To live is to fill one's hunger cup
For if we slumber a frost shall creep
War of lost
The last supper unattended
Granted pleasure to the hogs
Fine brandy amending laws
It's the tic between five and six
Wars of lost
Dear heaven where are you
Oh flag of my native country
Your face stained with blood
Defeat makes this misery pain
Copyright, Nina Lee 2014
All rights reserved by author 2014
Poetry by Nina Lee
Read 908 times
Written on 2014-06-17 at 02:13
Tags Life
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