Another old one
On every throne resides a crown,
That wants not to be worn,
By wearer of lice-wrought head,
Or woven soft as a lion's mane.
So sowing seeds,
Such as the gardener does,
Growing turnips and a foreigner's apple tree,
Of which we claim,
Are as conflicting,
As two things can be.
It's a practiced recipe,
Sprouting disaster and divide,
The ying and the yang,
To stand them tall,
And watch all fall,
From thought of castles and inside their walls.
Because with possibilities,
As endless as they may be,
The crown's never touched,
So long the war's still on.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
