He was the mountain of breathing
the hated blood
With an advanced unhealthy
tongue.
Up and down of the lip
tuned a ugly melody.
He was looked by a negative
report.
Breathed the sweat of despotism.
Sky was thundered at a little way.
Did not come back any word.
He rested in the unromantic
chamber.
He was not the lighted one.
Morning had become drawn with
a closed door
Couldn't find him at there.
Laundered the shadows of him.
Fired the legs of soul.
No morning didn't ever asked
a remedy.
I knew he was spilt by the word
Of himself.
Buried the despotism from a
narrowed not fully brighted ways.
He looked with her with an
Unfavorable eyes.
He breathed she was not much
to him.
It was his inner shadow.
It was his cause for bad blood.
Evening was became lighted with
gleams
He couldn't speak ,he was at silent
at long time.
No one couldn't shake him.
Few men were threatened him with
a dark world,
Sweated for his body.
He vomitted a desperate blood.
He worked in a unwaged earth.
He was carrying the blood and
he worked with the stain of
white blood.
That was not a eyed situation.
He was rested from the physical
life .
Sang a classical music on his dirge
A dirge song about him.
A thousand poems had written about
him in every men's hearts.
No one read atleast a few from it.
He was lunged a smell of white
blood.
Painted his whitness form;
No one could remark his forms.
Totally had broken by the moist
of these nature.
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Comments1
I love the style but I kinda list the message. Props on the phrasing though.
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