35/M/UK Poetry is a way I have found to help me work through my Dyslexia. By teaching myself new words, with different ways of writing, the construction of a poem becomes much more meaningful. 12 followers / 1.0k words
England mourns for her fading eyes, a gateway to fields the soul did dream! England cries for her dulling might, a hardened picture is all but a scream! England hopes for her futures born, a nurtured fallacy begets their start! England tries for her August dream ... a fighter still clings from years apart!
A solemn drum of thrills, an immortal heart so still! A modest staunch to the end, a waning soul aglow to bend a future afar ... dust from the rain may linger still, but not in her grain!
England bores our comrades faith, an innermost thought that comes to be! England frees our wondrous remains, an echo may sing ... but the birds are free!
Their dreams are diurnal; needs of many are seldom said. Flowers grow in summer soil in tumultuous cheers; playful voices now dancing in glee around tranquil trees ... birds are singing, their minds are free?
Their dreams are reclining, their feet are soulful streams. Winters blanket awaits in red to climb the precipice? wasted instead!