i decided to try my hand at a quick Hetalia poem. first one. no harsh judging. R and R minna. i take personal requests just pm me details on what you want. so for now... a poem for my favorite Russian.
he sat there in silence.
looking at the scene in front of him.
the sunflowers in the wind,
the clouds playing in the sky,
the silence that played like a harp,
only disturbed by insects and his breathing.
soon they would call him.
call him back to reality,
and the harshness of the world.
to the endless wars and poverty
and endless suffering.
a world of fake smiles and liars.
they would call him,
to take him away from the fields and endless peace.
so for now he would enjoy it.
the kiss of the sun on his skin,
the opposite of the harsh Russian winters.
the wind through his scarf,
almost like a tug deeper into its warm embrace,
assuring him that things were fine.
the fields that stretched forever.
how he wanted it to last.
forever and ever.
he didn't want to close his eyes,
in fear that it would disappear in an instance.
as long as he was around;
as a human or a country
he would come back.
his sunflower field,
his escape from reality,
his tranquil silence from the arguing
his eternal paradise.