A/N hi this is just a poem I wrote in the wee small hours of
the morning, after waking up from a dream about elves.
Yes I know im weired but I kind of like this one, its one of my better ones.
One question- why do most poems have to be sad and angst (mostly)?
Fuck knows, so here it is.
1 The Conlusion
We are all bound by his blood.
Pushed by the same force that drives us.
That callus curser as it drives its pointed tounge into the milky skin.
Wild horses drive the cold steely aim true.
And he drops.
Bound now by his blood, sharing this force.
Callus and pointed against the milky skin of wild horses.
Drum beats in the air, a crimson river trickles.
Silent affermation, nodding heads as we turn.
We are all bound by blood, pushed by the same force that drives us.
This desire, dark and firey.
Clouding the mind, twisting the thought.
Bound by his blood, pushed that force.
Responcability marks us, and our hearts are heavy.
Blood, force, callus, pointed.
Bound and pushed our desire deminished.
I see the world again as if for the frist time.
Theses strange sounds.
My eyes are only a few minuets old, yet they are timeless.
Bound by his blood and pushed by his the same force that drives us.
We three turn and leave.
By kathryn shobrook
Yes I know im weired but I kind of like this one, its one of my better ones.
One question- why do most poems have to be sad and angst (mostly)?
Fuck knows, so here it is.
1 The Conlusion
We are all bound by his blood.
Pushed by the same force that drives us.
That callus curser as it drives its pointed tounge into the milky skin.
Wild horses drive the cold steely aim true.
And he drops.
Bound now by his blood, sharing this force.
Callus and pointed against the milky skin of wild horses.
Drum beats in the air, a crimson river trickles.
Silent affermation, nodding heads as we turn.
We are all bound by blood, pushed by the same force that drives us.
This desire, dark and firey.
Clouding the mind, twisting the thought.
Bound by his blood, pushed that force.
Responcability marks us, and our hearts are heavy.
Blood, force, callus, pointed.
Bound and pushed our desire deminished.
I see the world again as if for the frist time.
Theses strange sounds.
My eyes are only a few minuets old, yet they are timeless.
Bound by his blood and pushed by his the same force that drives us.
We three turn and leave.
By kathryn shobrook