considering trying a title at some point

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
it's a thing, with word things inside, it's honestly pretty crazy

Submitted: June 27, 2016

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Submitted: June 27, 2016

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The greedy poor man flays his back in knife wounds of silver,

Rich men dream of mothers milk from times when the world was pure and virgin,
Good men ride in ill tidings racing toward the conclusion of their unholy pilgrimage,
And bad men ride in woes and legions marching towards the inevitability of death,
Holy men stand on swathes of the corpses of deer and kings,
And unholy curs and vermin alike wrench what they can from the hands of children,
Wretched priests wings covered in muck and tainted ilk save from themselves their troubled kin,
Moving tides and crashing waves are all that save the men from themselves,
And the truth of death itself is all you will need to remind you of the meaning of life.  


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