09-15-2013, 01:26 AM
Hi, I'm back. I decided to totally scrap a lot of my old poetry because a lot of it was incoherent junk, and tried to write something a little bit better. See if you like it. I did like this one, but I liked the other one I wrote too and it turned out to be trash.
Of many, we are one.
Who are the others then?
They recline amidst the warzones.
Luxury springs from foaming mouths,
And they sip tea steeped in sickle cells.
Born a patriot,
Weeping and cheering their country
From their bedsides.
There are enough hypocrites,
To mourn a dying man,
Yet see others fall like cherries,
And see their souls blossoming in the haze.
We watched them fly with the current,
Never remembered,
Until I met the wind.
Then each voice was a feather,
Thirsting for the sky.
And together, they gave us wings.
[Edit for grammar so I never have to worry about it ever again]
Of many, we are one.
Who are the others then?
They recline amidst the warzones.
Luxury springs from foaming mouths,
And they sip tea steeped in sickle cells.
Born patriots,
Weeping and cheering their country
From their bedsides.
There are enough hypocrites
To mourn a dying man
Yet see others fall like cherries
And see their souls blossoming in the haze.
We watched them fly with the current
Never remembered
Until I met the wind.
Then each voice was a feather,
Thirsting for the sky.
And together, they gave us wings.
Of many, we are one.
Who are the others then?
They recline amidst the warzones.
Luxury springs from foaming mouths,
And they sip tea steeped in sickle cells.
Born a patriot,
Weeping and cheering their country
From their bedsides.
There are enough hypocrites,
To mourn a dying man,
Yet see others fall like cherries,
And see their souls blossoming in the haze.
We watched them fly with the current,
Never remembered,
Until I met the wind.
Then each voice was a feather,
Thirsting for the sky.
And together, they gave us wings.
[Edit for grammar so I never have to worry about it ever again]
Of many, we are one.
Who are the others then?
They recline amidst the warzones.
Luxury springs from foaming mouths,
And they sip tea steeped in sickle cells.
Born patriots,
Weeping and cheering their country
From their bedsides.
There are enough hypocrites
To mourn a dying man
Yet see others fall like cherries
And see their souls blossoming in the haze.
We watched them fly with the current
Never remembered
Until I met the wind.
Then each voice was a feather,
Thirsting for the sky.
And together, they gave us wings.