Awake I hark
Death that shines a starting mark
I am stuck between two worlds
Thought she awaited confused and burnt
In the wilderness a spring blooms,
I was tought to fight with sticks and shrooms
This manuscript that I write
I wish it reads the way I recite.
Oh blessed rain that brings hope
Bring forth your rage and scope
The hands we are dealt never disappear,
Death she grows near.
It's darker than I expected. It's well written no doubt.
ReplyDeleteThe rain has literally shown it's rage recently. :P