Merchant of Anarchy

With tongue on fire,
He weaved a reality grim
found gold peddling lies
The Proud King of illusion

Little did he know
his children will pay,
for chaos he once sowed,
with blood, death and pain

The ground will shrink beneath their feat.
and roof above their heads
pride that flows through their veins
Will splatter, with hot penetrating lead.

The cracks once made,
travel afar, not to be mended again.
Hatred sold will never return
Unless nothing remains to burn.

Poetry by sagi
Read 353 times
Written on 2019-11-30 at 13:09

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