Turning to the dusks of man,
I remember how it is all a trick -
In reality, they are damned,
Even if they click
And blatantly decieve themselves
It is all a lie.
What is this lie,
This simple lie
That all know of
Yet none do speak aloud of?
It is this lie
This simple lie
That they are the kings of the land,
That they may know the ups and the downs,
Yet they know they may also drown
From this beauty that is the land.
If only they knew,
If only they listened,
That instead of the controllers,
It is They,
The helpless,
The ones at the mercy of
Nature;
The Maker.
The Controller.
They have underestimated
And they will fail
With a fall deeper than the sea
And darker than the moon
When engulfed in a silent spray of
Darkness.
YOU ARE READING
Bits & Scraps & Random Stuff...
PoetryRandom thoughts. Can they be called poetry? I have no idea.
