And they walk a storm,
Mind's thunder and lightning,
Held down to the soil
Keeping themselves from heightening.
As though sorrow gives off
A fragrance,
They wonder alone in the masses
Like hollowed vagrants.
The morbid crusade that
Wears the grace of pain,
The crule caverns of life
With a black rose's stain.
The glacial pace of thoughts
With so little time,
Weary and tired
On the abyss they do dine.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
And they walk a storm,
Mind's thunder and lightning,
Held down to the soil
Keeping themselves from heightening.
As though sorrow gives off
A fragrance,
They wonder alone in the masses
Like hollowed vagrants.
The morbid crusade that
Wears the grace of pain,
The crule caverns of life
With a black rose's stain.
The glacial pace of thoughts
With so little time,
Weary and tired
On the abyss they do dine.
Children of the Dust
