Destruction
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I stand above a pool of someone’s blood and attempt to notice the faces, in the attempt of my question, coming forth in trembling syllables, “Who had caused this destruction?” A wasteland surrounds me in echoes of crying women. Of weeping men over the graves to their beloved, they too, sing out. They feel, as
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Fill me with the energy,To attack a traitor.I saw her playing with power,Under the sun.Under her round moon,A face of many.Ovular as eggs,To plant creation into a nest,A bosom white,Dropping the hued-red apples. Though, she’s betrayed all of love,All of the safety from a ruler.She faces the wrath of God.The downpour from His hand;The Hand
Modern Romanticism 