I pledged to be a parrot,
Not long ago to this day,
To be a sword in someone’s hand, to be shoes under another’s feet,
To walk when told to walk, to run when told to retreat,
Nothing comes of bravery, if in facing fear we see the failure of others.

Are we so void,
That only after devouring the world’s very bones can we be sated,
If so then know,
This is a massacre and not a banquet,
And your soul as all souls shall one day decay,
Into the aftertaste you now cherish.

The mountains I see now,
Cleaving the sky,
Why do they weep,
Oh why do they weep?
Were these stones now holding the roots of earth, once men of love, laughter and guile,
Are these flowers kissing the sunlight’s skin;
Children, stilled to never smile,
Will the rain in her pain answer,
Will the wind in her wails find,
Have we lost our will to live,
Or at last do know our mind.

This is a cause to cry.

“If I set you free,
You shall see,
The world that is,
Devoid of me,
And then the more you pray,
The less I will say,
For you have chosen a path,
Which is not my way”

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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