Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Some grey hurdle in your empire- building poured an oaken drink and asked you what’s the endgame, peeking out to see rose death, spread shameless ‘midst the masses, boulder-swept, alive with anguish. Feel the days press on, your causes, cookie reasons, fill with fortunes folded by men no-percent alive. You dopes demand our castles, greasy chips smear eb’ny heads on which would rain your landing – Guess who’s strong. Guess who is tempered, battle-evened error modes of robed dictators, falsehood-seeking tenets of demise, long-startled, dancing over scrapped-together rinds of valor. Robed in beech dissent like quibbles: do we spill blood best from jugular or vena cava? Millions distant, dead. How do you like ‘em? Force inspires romance never shallow, hoisted up the pole. Fireworks like grape shells starring every goal: this cycle brought to you by bombs & stripes that started from discussions, oaken drinks in quiet chambers, warm and dry from toes to anguish on your aura, glory getting by.
0
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
The War Room
Some grey hurdle in your empire- building poured an oaken drink and asked you what’s the endgame, peeking out to see rose death, spread shameless ‘midst the masses, boulder-swept, alive with anguish. Feel the days press on, your causes, cookie reasons, fill with fortunes folded by men no-percent alive. You dopes demand our castles, greasy chips smear eb’ny heads on which would rain your landing – Guess who’s strong. Guess who is tempered, battle-evened error modes of robed dictators, falsehood-seeking tenets of demise, long-startled, dancing over scrapped-together rinds of valor. Robed in beech dissent like quibbles: do we spill blood best from jugular or vena cava? Millions distant, dead. How do you like ‘em? Force inspires romance never shallow, hoisted up the pole. Fireworks like grape shells starring every goal: this cycle brought to you by bombs & stripes that started from discussions, oaken drinks in quiet chambers, warm and dry from toes to anguish on your aura, glory getting by.
Written by
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem