Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
let the silence be the noise in your early mornings filled with smoke, subtle noises from homes, and dry leaves lying against the ground. You hear the howling at a distance by the wild hounds; the hands filled with soil, clothing went ***** by dust and coal. A man dies with regrets and charges But the faith of everyone never changes The foes come forth, escaping the barriers towards the north. A morning of soon destruction and terror.
0
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
The tip of the ice
let the silence be the noise in your early mornings filled with smoke, subtle noises from homes, and dry leaves lying against the ground. You hear the howling at a distance by the wild hounds; the hands filled with soil, clothing went ***** by dust and coal. A man dies with regrets and charges But the faith of everyone never changes The foes come forth, escaping the barriers towards the north. A morning of soon destruction and terror.
niklaus
Written by
M/underworld
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem