Brilliant blues like the middle of the seas
Thorn apart with the tears of scarlet deliverance
Ribbons of dark slash the starlit sky
Are you ready to destroy children’s cries?
Like dying roosters in all the gracelessness
We run in circles until we shed the last drop of morality
Are we so powerless
To overthrow the ignorance of our nobility…
November’s previous leaf scrolls through a misty morning
Embedded into the wind that plays with his destiny
And easily like that, stolen from the misery
of hanging in one place, now soaring…
Like dying roosters, in half agony and half hope
Slowly, we have died and surrendered
There is no need to hang off a rope
Our thoughts will flow free with our heads severed
The ghostly heart has paid its toll
And dreams await the sentence…
We were never free; this is the final call
Soak yourself in your divinity,
even if others think it’s hate.
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.