Sunday, 5 February 2012

KING SIRA


A king falls gored by darts of fire
The skies rain soot; a foul gas coils.
It rots pure buds; grey lips ooze tar
and split rare trees that waltz in joy.
Man howls for life but sinks to mist
Gales hurl the ash of once high lords.
O woe gilt souls who drift here blind
The red ghoul stalks to slime his prey.












2 comments:

  1. Some strong images there in your words but it speaks of the world beautifully. i liked it a lot... keep walking!!!

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