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A simple poem story about gods and wars (Part 1)


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Hey guys^^

Here is just a short poem story I wrote late at night, while being bored. I might write a second part the next time I'm bored, not sure yet ;P I hope you enjoy it and it isn't too hard to read.





He runs, he falls,

the guns, their calls,

roaring magic,

lives are tragic.

The arrows fly,

damocles sword up high.

The stroke comes down,

from fear they frown.

The sword is our live is what we wield,

no longer is this a battlefield,

a death pit of sorrow is what it is,

he strikes and strikes the death of his.

Death comes in pain,

and live’s in vain.

We die only to resurrect,

with decaying intellect.

Our soul takes damage,

our vessels go savage,

suffering spreads and grows,

for we are never-dying crows.

More and more filled with despair,

we know this suffering can’t be fair.

Screw those gods,

who cares for odds?

All we want,

is for them to grant,

our wish for peace,

for war to cease,

for flying high,

in the sky,

but we can just sigh.

The gods abuse,

and we, we loose.

They care for war,

with their mighty roar.

Their greed for power,

like a toxic shower,

destroys this earth,

to which they gave birth,

and which they yearn to claim,

to be their game.

But should they shame,

themselves and others same,

for they are source

of the despising force,

that now takes course,

rising among the tortured souls,

slowly takes the vessels controls.

The gods now look at their creations,

as they are forming nations,

and from not treating them as they should

comes nothing forth you could call good.

Stronger than the gods,

come organised squads,

of their own subjects,

that seemed like insects.

They will fight one more war,

for there then shall be nevermore.

The gods learn fear,

and they start to tear,

realising that they had shattered,

everything that mattered.

Their flesh and blood,

children from every god,

they have united,

as a the flame ignited,

in all their hearts,

they became parts,

of those dreams,

like peace it seems.

And against all the previous odds,

they now have killed all gods.

Now forth shall be no hatred,

and nothing sacred.

But had they not realised,

and are thus surprised,

that the gods live further,

as parts in them they murder.

Peace has never shown its smile,

wars always continue to pile.

We are not meant to live,

gods tools are combative.

We are doomed forever,

aren’t they clever?

Even from the nether,

they make us gather,

to slaughter our own,

breaking bone after bone,

as our friends moan,

it seems gods still have their throne.

Edited by Kurotenshikami



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