Selieno
Posts : 145 Join date : 2012-11-18 Age : 27 Location : That weird place in life where you want to die, but can't.
| Subject: This is the garbage I write in my spare time. Sun Nov 18, 2012 10:58 pm | |
| Rivulets of flowing Crimson Soaring crescent of Maroon, A thousand points of man's own Sin Flows out to his Doom
A drop falls here, two more land there Upon the Earthen floor alight, Ask Him not how well he fares For His life now does take flight
Rencounce your Name Forget your past, Release to Time Your fortune cast
Forgive me Father For I have Sinned, I've spelt the End Of mankind's Kin
Am I forsaken Or am I poorly blessed? Am I his scorn, Or his last confessed?
I was to call This man my King. I was to fall Amongst my kin,
In belligerence lies life Obedience holds peace. To rebel and fight for paradise, Or simply rest beneath? | |
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Selieno
Posts : 145 Join date : 2012-11-18 Age : 27 Location : That weird place in life where you want to die, but can't.
| Subject: Re: This is the garbage I write in my spare time. Wed Nov 21, 2012 4:16 am | |
| Claim not to know that pain of truth Assume not a mask that mocks my lost youth Mere men hold not soul enough to withstand The hate of their gods, their kin, and their clan.
Broken I stand, entire I bleed Left here in the sands with my yearning and need That which I search for, all others cast to the wind That which I thirst for, all others seem to drown in.
Why might it be that my heart will not heal? Might it be because to no god do I kneel? If so then why does all of mans hate Seem pointed to me and my ever-darkening fate?
My heart and my soul, both have been taken Scarred, burned, consumed, played with and broken These long years spent to drown in despair And here now seals my coffin, these painful affairs.
My life is the life of a lost soul and cause So many years I wandered and could not once pause No respite was I given, only beatings to bruise And sweltering welts left by each broken noose.
A great many lives I have lived in this time Old before I was young, to die before my time But what shall you expect, when the anger you feel Is towards my next breath, my next turn on the wheel? | |
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