Cradle me with your worn hands
Bitten by a Master destiny
My epitaph shall read Runes
With blistered danger
Your will is mine.
I wish only for a cool command
Caved in and detached
My legacy spills like wine
Tanks burning in the sand
I am yours my Lord.
1 Pages:1
Please Rate This Submission:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- Recent
Comments - Add a
Comment - Send
Feedback Send private anonymous feedback to the author (click here to post a public comment instead).
There are no recent comments - Click here to add a comment to this poem