Tell me the story of the innocents
Their cheeks tinged with joy,
Their eyes wide with wonder.
The laughter, the unsteady steps,
The fragile purity.
And the darkness soon after.
The crushing abyss,
The crumbling towers, and broken toys.
The despair, the frozen musical ballerinas.
And the hundred-year stillness that followed.
Tell me how they rose again,
Their blood dripping Revolution.
Tell me the stories of the youth,
The ones with burning eyes of gold,
Of voices that screamed over the roaring crowds,
The hearts that pumped the blood of warriors.
Tell me the stories of those who
Hung their lives on a silver thread of spider silk,
Whose teeth ground together and crushed stars.
They, who tore down the looming walls,
Running like Atalanta, fighting like Achilles,
Tell me how their heels were struck.
Tell me how they fell,
Soaked in their own blood,
Their bodies ripped in two.
The empty cries,
The silent wails.
Tell me those stories drenched in blood and tragedy,
Whispered voices in the night,
The ones who struck Hope in others' hearts.
Show me the broken memories,
The shattered dreams
And fragmented realities.
This is what they sold their lives for.
Tell me how they fell,
These stars of a different galaxy,
Broken and torn apart,
Smoldering metals in their wounds.
Whose pasts were darker than black,
Whose present was one big battle
Towards a future they never had.
~October.
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Inspired by a story I've yet to write and upload on here. I hope you liked it! I'm working on going back and rearranging these poems to tell a story of their own. ;)
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHireath: (n) A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. For the home I haven't yet returned to. ***************************** A book of poems and the occasional response to writing prompts. Or both. My es...
