Collecting Tears
Fire on the water
burns of liquid desire.
Let us sing of failure.
Do not hold back, the fight has just begun.
The more you wait, the more you fear.
Morbid fantasy. Morbid madness.
When you wrung the sky dry,
every drop was collected from your victims' eyes.
The blue sky above our head
blooms a thousand flowers bright.
The character of mankind
is less than imagined!
YOU ARE READING
The Dragon Became a Modern Poetaster
PoetryPoetry is a dance of words, a guise of flesh, and a reprise of thought. The myths of old are forgotten on modern tongues. Such adventurous spirits seek new vessels - fresh words to don and call their own. We shall write them home, you and I. Let the...
