In utero, in turmoil
defeat at birth.
Bespoker of knowledge,
seeker of worth.
A victor working out an old, old rhyme,
something about lemons.
Consciousness conceived
and conscious of more,
and to the victor the spoils of war.
You were not mine to give away,
yet I let them have you,
you knew that I would.
We were not ours to live that day,
yet had I not lived
I would not fear dying.
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Author:
Yorke (
Offline) - Published: December 11th, 2016 15:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
Offline)
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