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Barren, the earth beckons Sole pair of feet treading in heat. Respite is seldom found while Dread, exhaustion and sweat are cheap. Burnt heather, ashes for a bed, A pillow of dead feathers. What else must he do to rest Save be abed in dust, the traveller. A fall, showering of the abandoned Leaves, children so dried. Lifelessly dropping, hopeless, From clutches of the mother tree, pried. Poison intoxicating, sapping nature And all there is, it's fallen bounty. To seek rest amidst the fallen In itself is not devoid of folly. Spines, shivering in deathly embrace Of ice and of all that is cold. Paralysis of a different nature Body begging for warmth lost and old. Silence embalms the wild The tame are shown no mercy. For who dare put his eyes to rest They may never again open, never see. A beautiful ethereal death awaits Those lulled by false enchantments. Songs and whispers of ivy and moss Trap innocents at river embankments. Fruit and flower, vines and willows, Dryads of the woods, deepening magic. Slumber means to never stand again, Death in solemn sleep, of course is tragic.
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May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
Seasons of Death
Barren, the earth beckons Sole pair of feet treading in heat. Respite is seldom found while Dread, exhaustion and sweat are cheap. Burnt heather, ashes for a bed, A pillow of dead feathers. What else must he do to rest Save be abed in dust, the traveller. A fall, showering of the abandoned Leaves, children so dried. Lifelessly dropping, hopeless, From clutches of the mother tree, pried. Poison intoxicating, sapping nature And all there is, it's fallen bounty. To seek rest amidst the fallen In itself is not devoid of folly. Spines, shivering in deathly embrace Of ice and of all that is cold. Paralysis of a different nature Body begging for warmth lost and old. Silence embalms the wild The tame are shown no mercy. For who dare put his eyes to rest They may never again open, never see. A beautiful ethereal death awaits Those lulled by false enchantments. Songs and whispers of ivy and moss Trap innocents at river embankments. Fruit and flower, vines and willows, Dryads of the woods, deepening magic. Slumber means to never stand again, Death in solemn sleep, of course is tragic.
Solembum
Written by
32/M/Indian
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
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