Those mighty warriors,
Of ancient times,
Fought for their dignity,
In golden shrines,
Dark brooding loss,
Tears of salt and grime,
Nothing is left here,
Only mournful cries.
A lonely poet,
Lyre spread wide,
Sings grieving notes,
Of better times,
Crumbling buildings,
Souls left to find,
A thousand bodies,
Deprived of life.
Those mighty warriors,
All sent to die,
They couldn't protect them,
They failed to survive,
Fiery remains,
Peace nothing but a lie,
Crows gazing desolately,
Solemly ponder the skies.
A melancholic silence now haunts the empty streets,
Where life used to thrive, death has brought its sleep.
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Author:
Ophelia Larimore (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 15th, 2023 06:33
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this poem while inspired by the work of another person who wrote a beautiful story on the battle of Troy and the clash over Helen, so beautiful it was that it inspired me to write this, in honor of it, to continue their story, sung from the point of view of a stranded poet wandering through the destroyed streets of what used to be his town.
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments1
This is beautiful❤
Thank you so much!!
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