Of rolling hills and thundering waves
Of reddened paint in hardened caves
Of ghosts that came to play
Of the pillars: ancient and towering trees
Of the sickly saplings they came to be
Of ghouls that yearned for pay
Of broken thorns and broken flags
Of parents sleeping beneath white rags
Of a history that never got a say
"Oh, to what do we deserve this fate?
Except to be here before the arriving date?"
A/N Not sure if I'll keep it as is or if I'll edit it in the future, but leaving it unfinished nagged me so I gave it my best attempt. Not sure if I like how I continued/ended it yet.
YOU ARE READING
Witching Hour: Lost in Thought
PoetryTitled "Witching Hour" because most of my poem ideas come to me way past midnight when I'm trying to sleep. The topics are pretty diverse, but there are definitely things I write about more often than others. Also If you don't like the first few...
