The breaking winds arive,
a foul desire to rule subsides,
through years of achieving victory,
low and behold I still hold a broken history.
How can one forget the past,
how can one brush aside history,
when all was lost and all was resigned,
the fangs of my ambition were lost to me.
Inside, alive, I feel the pounding next to me,
a broken clock pulls my mind seamlessly,
and my heart shouts carelessly,
Home, is where I long to be.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Music
PoetryA collection of poems written to soundtracks which are there for you to play.
