Mortal Ruins




I see the stars,
I see the color blind world,
I see the fallen men, and the rising one,
And I know if I am, as I am to be,
I have to close my eyes,
I have to cease to see,
Like all my fellow birds around me,
Wasting away in the newfound sun,
Twisting tales, for listeners fun,
I have seen the ocean rest a bit,
I have seen the shadows straightening to sit,
For finally it all comes down to this,
You must aim to hit and not to miss,
Life’s a pleasure, pleasure to take away,
Even if your day is not today,
Because you ain’t the only, only one,
Tasting the barrel of the loaded gun,
And feeling alive against that metal taste,
Like till now life’s been just a waste,
Pull the trigger, trigger and let it blow,
At least you will somehow someway know,
That your hand wasn’t banded tight,
You did what you did, for you thought it right,
So come my friend, come sit beside,
Let us wash off our sins, in the neighbors tide,
And be all merry and sing again,
Of fallen kingdoms and ghosts of men.

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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