Destruction comes cloaked in brief shadows,
fickle wisdom whispers from ruined walls.
Liberals, architects of delicate sympathies,
weave tapestries torn by their own threads.
They proffer hands, trembling not with strength,
but with the fevers of surrogate salvation,
sowing peace not by growth but weightless gifts,
casting their nets where roots once anchored.
While fields wither beneath this gentle torrent,
the world starves for the honesty of struggle.
A balance turned brittle in borrowed echoes,
light flickers faint when fires aren’t kindled.
To rebuild, one must taste ash's flavor,
to heal, endure the thorn and its sting,
worth rises best from sweat, not fiction’s song,
a truth unseen by those who shield eyes.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 6th, 2025 09:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments5
Fantastic work. Powerful.
Thanks brother I have 3 in the series
Fairy tales are for children, dreams are for sleepers, wishes are for wells, shooting stars, and birthday parties. A lovely write.
Thanks brother
I shall follow the series with attention.... Thanks for putting it out there.
Just clocked off from a blended shift. 12 hours of madness. I am also not in the best frame of mind so am greatly appreciative 🙏🏻🕊️
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