IN THE BEGINNING WAS BLOOD AND FIRE
THE THRONE WAS CHOSEN BECAUSE IT KNEW.
EVERY MORNING WAS THE WHISTLING OF SWEET SOUNDS
IN ALL THIS, THERE WAS AN OPEN SCAR IN ITS FEATHERS
COVERED.
TIME WAS SHAPED WITH ITS MISFORTUNE,
THE RIDGED EDGES OF ITS EXISTENCE HAD BEEN EXPOSED
THE SWEET SOUNDS FADED, AS THE SCAR WAS PACKED OVER AGAIN
WHEN THE SKIN BECAME ITS CLOTHING A MOMENT OF UGLINESS WAS EXPOSED.
THE REALITY SPOKE FOR ITSELF WITH NOTHING TO HOLD BACK,
WHAT IT GAVE ALL FOR, PLUNGED IT DEEPER INTO THE THRONE
THE IMAGE OF SELFISHNESS WAS ENGRAVED ON ITS FEATHERS
ALAS, THRONES AND SCARS ARE THE CLOTHING OF THE UGLY BIRD VOID OF FEATHERS.
BY: POHBDPOET
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