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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Philosophy · #1215493
To each man, we are too proud. [1 of 2]
The movement of time;
Rocking the elements.

Clash with fate;
The recipe of disaster.

I knew of them;
They knew of nothing.

You clawed me inside out;
Bit my heart,
Into dirt.

Shatter the illustrious,
Mirror reflection of me.

But gone was he,
Who knew no more,

Than what was one to be,
Truth and falsity combine.

Merrily to foresee,
What no other can,

Bare to conceive,
For when man bit,

Sweet juice of the dark,
Lord’s greedy hand.

Does man fall upon,
His naked knees and,
Shutters under God’s,
Scornful whiplash,
The tale of absurd mockery.

On his humble dignity,
Man promise to serve,
The high angels in his,
Plight to corrupt humanity.

But what could one do,
if the God of Nazareth,
Continues to strip each,
And every other innocent.
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