PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You say I have a warrior heart

trampled on by a thousand soldiers

My boots are dressed in dirt

I layed and died

But nobody knows

where the road goes. 

Grew up in a saints land

Where the trumpet sounds

a single solitary mindful thought

We felt the weather

grow dim

And the music draw blood 

We hid the killings

in a bucket

under a holy bridge

where the priests used to lay their heads

to hum away the sickness

But we carried on

not knowing right from wrong

Succumb, no matter

where the sound goes

our needs unripened

The fools are always kind

but always hidden

The stacks are always high

but the world begins anew

There is no backside to this heart

only purity

A tied up sea 

with an unrippled drop of a leaf

that still possesses rythymn

Flag me down

and ship me out with the cavalry