At the slumber of the Sun
The days too early for light
Escorted in by innocence and purity
His cries like honey to ears
At the command of the map
Irony ordered those new feet
Evaporation stole purpose to the sky
Preferred he clouds and smoke to dreams
Possessions is owned by mirage
His eye brow took to a bow
Responding to the darts on his back
The sixth feet his only trophy
… Harsh winds ate of his bones
Came to see the light, Darkness welcomed him
His candle, the circle of light banished
Diary of the begotten omitted his name
Justice was most fair, the Gavel most impartial
A litre for a pint, a dentition for a tooth
From the womb to the tomb
But Mercy said NO
Liberty bought him from his wages
The noose empty of his neck
Salivating to disappointment
From the sixth depth to the streets of Gold
This man is back to own the sceptre
All traps will stay barren, empty of a prey
Death shall starve in expectation
For is blood is not menu for dinner
No comments:
Post a Comment