A Shallow Mess
Ravens wander empty skies
Like cold missionaries
Ravenously scouring the land
For blind fear and lost souls.
The empty sounds of a quiet day
From lands bereft of hope;
A day for weary eyes to close
And old soldiers to go back home.
Broken bones feed sorrow and pest;
For the glory of kings,
For the sake of every foolish pride
And every deeply bloody, shallow mess.
Like cold missionaries
Ravenously scouring the land
For blind fear and lost souls.
The empty sounds of a quiet day
From lands bereft of hope;
A day for weary eyes to close
And old soldiers to go back home.
Broken bones feed sorrow and pest;
For the glory of kings,
For the sake of every foolish pride
And every deeply bloody, shallow mess.
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Copyright © 2005-2008 by Shawn Olson.
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