Weary fusty clothes
Sing the story of my life.
Broken shields stained with blood
Smell like petrichor to me.
Books that were opened
Long back ago
Are to be opened
Again once thee go.
For it is my destiny
Forever wath and will be
Tracing the same old
Worn out path.
Tracing the remains of the
Pieces of my soul
Empty for now
Once again will be whole.
For we must unite
Once more for the world
For there is some power
Waiting to rise once more.
In the orb I see
The scarry body
Euphoria shall once more
Be their victory.
The deep caves show
The way to the Great
The grass should you mow
To meet our old mate.
Advise shall I only give
For thy is the doer
Ensure thee must not let
Anyone feel a loner
For they might turn their back against you
But the bond will never be broken
For the love is true
Soul is once more open.
YOU ARE READING
Magic it is.
PoetryThe combination of past, present and the future is what explains magic. The way life turns on the road to greatness, accompanied with failures and loss of loved ones. The race of life never means for anyone to lose but the one who overcomes the hudd...
