To dream of dreams of dreadful sorts,
replacing ends with abundance of substance
for reluctance of ravishing rebels' tales.
The story of glory forever prevails
in the moments that pass in setting sails.
O' the mockery of labor on those Western rails.
A world untraced in forbidden trails.
The complex collaboration of conjunctive sorry hearts
pitches a feeling of ferocity and animosity
towards the generosity of the genocidal gender races.
When all they wanted was their "saving graces."
The unmarked tombs of those nameless faces.
Where were you when their race was wasted?
A race misplaced for the trending traces.
As I solemnly slip from the silhouette of sanity
to sit and revel in revolutionary frames.
These games we play to tame the sun.
If tomorrow never comes, then what have we done?
We're fixed on the war that can never be won.
But if you sit this one out you will surely be shunned.
Now tell me my child, why is it you've come?
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
To dream of dreams of dreadful sorts,
replacing ends with abundance of substance
for reluctance of ravishing rebels' tales.
The story of glory forever prevails
in the moments that pass in setting sails.
O' the mockery of labor on those Western rails.
A world untraced in forbidden trails.
The complex collaboration of conjunctive sorry hearts
pitches a feeling of ferocity and animosity
towards the generosity of the genocidal gender races.
When all they wanted was their "saving graces."
The unmarked tombs of those nameless faces.
Where were you when their race was wasted?
A race misplaced for the trending traces.
As I solemnly slip from the silhouette of sanity
to sit and revel in revolutionary frames.
These games we play to tame the sun.
If tomorrow never comes, then what have we done?
We're fixed on the war that can never be won.
But if you sit this one out you will surely be shunned.
Now tell me my child, why is it you've come?
Request permission to use this poem