How giant the man sitting on the mount,
Who has ang'r at any very tall.
The red across many inches floods
Of the ancient temple where monks dwell.
No judging casual, do not mislead
People of ignorance to flame-hell
Which in the past was paradise.
Giant man drew cities down to ground,
With for desire sole avarice.
His shadow muffles flowers off
The mirror reflecting beauty,
The sparkle He doesn't like.
He is silence, He is habit;
He is full of power, but not real
In the vagrants' pure minds.
What I saw, what I said.
This is what one modern feels.
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Author:
lvdgone (
Offline) - Published: May 9th, 2023 09:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Welcome all comments and criticism.
- Category: Fable
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
If up is down wwhat is down
Apparently down is up.
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