Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2015
Boots on my feet, heels on cold obsidian.
This is my land now. My proclamation;
every stone to the east and every wave to the west.
Evacuate.
Eyes on the sun, gun in hand: this is no place for dishonor.

Eyes on the prize.
No tomorrow.

Say, you see when the rooster rises and crows?
Take a hint.
ej
Written by
ej
632
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems