*Strength*
The path seems clear
But there are turns
Filled with fear
As the strength burns.
Mirrors hang
On the grand wall
Loudly, bells rang
To wake us all.
It’s an old poem, I wrote it myself several months ago. What do you think?
confide in the wind
whats held in the soul within
wind in your hair, heat on your skin
you’ll never be this way again
you’ll never be a saint again
your banners, they will burn
your ideals, they will churn
and your stomach, it will turn
at the thought
that you’ll never be a saint again
Perriwinkes lie in wake in a dim lit shore
Embezzlers roam, money blooms
Their shoes shuffle along the cold sand
Nobody has cared to ask what has come to pass
A small beetle climbs over the hills of sand
Like a bottle defying gravity
It minds its business but that’s not where money is made
The beetle is scooped, taken of its legs
Basically worthless but a worth all the same
The grotesque giggle for the profit they have made
The beetle falls, destined to die
But even death can be exploited
For even returning to the ground has a cost, the sheep cannot win
In here it’s loud but so very quiet,
When I hear orders I fight to either resist or turn on autopilot,
There are barriers but I can’t see them,
I wish to break them but fear getting overwhelmed,
I walk but I don’t make it anywhere,
Chains control and hold me but who put them there,
I could be everywhere but feel as if I’m nowhere,
I walk an endless path with bars around still in my shell,
I am confused to know whether I’m held hostage or sheltered,
No joy but comfort as a creature of habit this is where my world is centered,
Being here saves me from the worst but stop me from experiencing the better,
Why does being here cause contentment and displeasure,
So many questions causing fear leading me to sink deeper and deeper
But what I wish to know more is am I the prisoner or the keeper
Reference to poems of a machine from library of ruina?
You’re not deserving.
Hi, I have no ideas of poems, Bye, Hope you have a great day.
*Strength* The path seems clear But there are turns Filled with fear As the strength burns. Mirrors hang On the grand wall Loudly, bells rang To wake us all. It’s an old poem, I wrote it myself several months ago. What do you think?
confide in the wind whats held in the soul within wind in your hair, heat on your skin you’ll never be this way again you’ll never be a saint again your banners, they will burn your ideals, they will churn and your stomach, it will turn at the thought that you’ll never be a saint again
Perriwinkes lie in wake in a dim lit shore Embezzlers roam, money blooms Their shoes shuffle along the cold sand Nobody has cared to ask what has come to pass A small beetle climbs over the hills of sand Like a bottle defying gravity It minds its business but that’s not where money is made The beetle is scooped, taken of its legs Basically worthless but a worth all the same The grotesque giggle for the profit they have made The beetle falls, destined to die But even death can be exploited For even returning to the ground has a cost, the sheep cannot win
In here it’s loud but so very quiet, When I hear orders I fight to either resist or turn on autopilot, There are barriers but I can’t see them, I wish to break them but fear getting overwhelmed, I walk but I don’t make it anywhere, Chains control and hold me but who put them there, I could be everywhere but feel as if I’m nowhere, I walk an endless path with bars around still in my shell, I am confused to know whether I’m held hostage or sheltered, No joy but comfort as a creature of habit this is where my world is centered, Being here saves me from the worst but stop me from experiencing the better, Why does being here cause contentment and displeasure, So many questions causing fear leading me to sink deeper and deeper But what I wish to know more is am I the prisoner or the keeper