In a field, gray and dismal as the day
we find the hero. In his final place, he lay
beat up and bloody, peaceful on the hay.
Blue orbs closed shut to the once blue sky,
which at one point wondered what it felt like to die.
He grew his wings and learned how to fly.
Held tight in his fist we see the tool
that should have protected, but ended his rule.
Trust turned our friend into a faithless fool.
So now he'll stay broken at the base of this hill
where he forever remains, steady, silent, and still.
When his back was turned I moved in for the kill.
Across the grass, dismal and gray
straight to the pile of newly harvested hay
where the hero lay and thought about the day.
Comments
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Excellent!
"He grew his wings and learned how to fly.."
Amazing wording, fantastic flow.
Great poem.
I'm glad I read it.
<3
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This is really good. First of all, the rhyme scheme was spectacularly done, and the poem was written so well. It was incredible intriguing. With that writing style, it could have been about anything and been still amazing. I also loved the repetitivity through the first and last stanzas, that was done nicely as well. Great job!!!
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