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
