The Day We Stand.

Feel free to fear, and dear to dread,

Ye, searchers of true happiness.

In quaint ways, do stumble and fall,

Bloodied, broken, as alone as all.

Gather wind, must tempest sing,

In wails mourning bygone days, 

Just as each stone is tempered bone,

So are all legends, stories sown.

Let nightmares guide, your quest of truth,

Each martyr a milestone honed in ruth,

To find, and find, the pledge of faith, 

By life’s sorrow, and peace of death.

Rest not till blood, gushes white,

Rest not till withers hardened lies,

Rest not till tomorrow touches dawn,

Rest not till each is on his own.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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