I am the stillborn son of war,
Strapped on to an unmanned chariot of unrealized dreams;
Ever Since I was born as the heir ,
To the twin kingdoms of hypothetics and hypocrisy.
I am a silent sculpture,
Of the broken skeletons of sorrow,
Nourished by the blood of the vanquished,
And meant to unite the mourners on the banks of defeat,
Under a common cause.
I am an unopened letter of sympathy,
Waiting,
For the last tear drop on the armor of the vanquished to dry .
I am the final abandoned fresco,
Fading to obscurity;
As it graces the crumbling walls,
In the Chapel of fallen hopes.
I am the moan of the heart ,
Where the echoes of my prophecy,
Have greeted celebrations of existence,
Long before I was born to die.
I am the chant.
Immortalized.
Immorralized .
By the reverend voices that preached ,
From the pulpits of divine demagogues.
I am the invincible myth,
Inheritance of abstracts afar,
For I was christened Peace ,
The stillborn son of war.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
I am the stillborn son of war,
Strapped on to an unmanned chariot of unrealized dreams;
Ever Since I was born as the heir ,
To the twin kingdoms of hypothetics and hypocrisy.
I am a silent sculpture,
Of the broken skeletons of sorrow,
Nourished by the blood of the vanquished,
And meant to unite the mourners on the banks of defeat,
Under a common cause.
I am an unopened letter of sympathy,
Waiting,
For the last tear drop on the armor of the vanquished to dry .
I am the final abandoned fresco,
Fading to obscurity;
As it graces the crumbling walls,
In the Chapel of fallen hopes.
I am the moan of the heart ,
Where the echoes of my prophecy,
Have greeted celebrations of existence,
Long before I was born to die.
I am the chant.
Immortalized.
Immorralized .
By the reverend voices that preached ,
From the pulpits of divine demagogues.
I am the invincible myth,
Inheritance of abstracts afar,
For I was christened Peace ,
The stillborn son of war.
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