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Spiral of iron, blinded eye. The rage and the cold and the colossus sing. Thunderous ghosts tread the wheat and the rye, ageless these torrents and the ire they bring. Calamity drifting, flood in the sky. The storm, the storm will unmake you and me. Lost to the water, strangled. Soaked. Bones are the feast for the roots of the trees. Cities extinguished, the stars burn alone, beyond sight, beyond reach. The tempests play: drown the mountains, the temples, the stories, the songs. The water is rising, our verge is a wave.
0
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
the storm, the storm
Spiral of iron, blinded eye. The rage and the cold and the colossus sing. Thunderous ghosts tread the wheat and the rye, ageless these torrents and the ire they bring. Calamity drifting, flood in the sky. The storm, the storm will unmake you and me. Lost to the water, strangled. Soaked. Bones are the feast for the roots of the trees. Cities extinguished, the stars burn alone, beyond sight, beyond reach. The tempests play: drown the mountains, the temples, the stories, the songs. The water is rising, our verge is a wave.
Not usually one for rhyming poetry. Hope you enjoy!
Written by
25/M/Denver, CO
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
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