another poem I wrote in my miserable pool of depression crying jk I'm not THAT pathetic wink but with further fanfair here it is:
A serene winters kiss of frost and wind, on my long hurting face beaten for every timed I sinned. A gift for retribution sent from the sky, you are my reason for living on and wanting still to fly. A call from the east awakens my slumber of apathy; the voice of a girl fills my ears long deafened by unending heresy. I rise to my trembling feet aching after carrying a heavy load, and ride for an uncertain horizon a road rarely riden. Behind me stand a crowd yelling that I'm a fool, but I ride on without turning and without losing my cool. Next to me ride my men few and rejected, but beside me they march proudly and collected. After feigning death and continuing for so long, I still do not question weather I am right or wrong.
you'd have to know the story behind it to really understand it but I wont start on that long rant. till I'm inspired again.
Slap the reaper in the face and wether you are right or wrong you'll still get a nice sicle up you're arse eek
 Hexatone- · Tue Jan 10, 2006 @ 02:17am · 0 Comments |
