#5 of Miscellaneous Works
More poetry. Tried experimenting with having four syllables per line for some reason: I thought it had an interesting effect.
The banks empty:
Lost, forgotten.
There never was
Anything there.
Could I step once
Over that mount?
Like the prophet,
I fear I won't.
Ends are certain.
The middles, not.
That is a truth.
Or so I'm told.
I grow too old.
And yet I'm young.
'Tis paradox.
One dear to me.
If life is flux
And I water,
Then why do I
Now seem to drown.
Wait What was I to do? Wouldn't it all have been in vain? So all I did was...Wait. I was feeling blue. It all was always the same. Could I do anything but...Wait? That's all I knew. I knew I couldn't handle the pain. Shouldn't I...
I walk into Gaia's tent, knowing that she'll want to discuss what we had just finished talking about. The tent is completely covered in maps and strategic data for their war against my former nation, the Southern Republics. Being in this room, I feel...
In the promise of opportunity, Let us not rest upon days past: Let us go forth in unity. What can we have without community? An inkling of solidarity dashed And the promise of opportunity. Can we seek immunity From the words that hurt and...