Painting by George Frederic Watts

Poetry Shall Be Born

Sky, all barren and emptied of stars

Night refused to reveal its scars

Autumn winds casted the magic spell

The last hope of the spring fell

The ocean held back the waves

Fondles which now the shore craves

Winter froze the thoughts in veins

Ink spilled on the soul, leaving stains

Chaos has engulfed the forlorn town

The king has lost his precious crown

Corpses lay scattered in the path

Walls painted with the color of wrath

Bouquet withered away by the tomb

Humanity awaits the words to bloom

Every page seems all tattered and torn

Amidst the mayhem, poetry shall be born