Slashing Air.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The King, broken down, thrives to fly again. (Sorry if it sucks. I don't write much poetry. This just kind of came to me. Randomly. VERY RANDOMLY)

Submitted: October 12, 2010

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Submitted: October 12, 2010

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Proud wings slashing the air.

Pointed cone arching upwards into the deep blue.

The king of all.

The most majestic, caught against a protrait of colors.

It's proud, it's strong, it's in control.

The world looks up at it.

See's something that some hate, some love.

A storm strikes.

The King is wounded.

Ripped of its pride.

Ripped of its wings.

It slouches, its skin torn off.

No longer producing the resource,

We so desperately need.

Yet inside, it's strong, it's proud.

It waits and waits, eye watching anxiously,

also waiting for the day,

when this beautiful creature

will slash the air again.

The repairs again, dangerous in the wind.

The King's followers cry in support,

their own wings slashing as vigourously as ever.

The skin is replaced, the wings brought back.

With a woosh, it spins again.

The strongest of all

Windmills.


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