The Muse of the Wanderers (for those displaced by greed)

Showered, wet
Rainstorms and lies
A continent with dead eyes
Falling to depths that we never knew
An empty Ice-Hail Thors Day Morn

Solitude of Humans; the mind oddity
The ring that was never accepted
Nightbirds, gentle, those only to listen to conversations

Piercing droplets, upon this mountain, shredding at my skin,
Startled; empty stores
Watching the calm of capitalist inaction as the night sears
Of long borne lies, cowardice over many waters, river, to lake oceans divide,

I hear the voice, those of Ancients, of trees, to hear, as i heard hers 3 years hence, pulsatinf spark
Of innocence and freedom

Our Son, Brother, Kin
Owls call, citadella glows
A poverty that greed and ignorance not knows
Even; with acidity; acrid air is pure by the lonliness of fighting foe breath

We wander

Of hatred from she, stood above, and afar
Of the lone, the missing child,

To know what it is to be of an artwork, of the blade and misplaced anger, shimmers…

Wishes still shared

Bidding a final farewell…

As midnight finally strikes.

Виктор Сеймур ©2014

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