/lit/ - Literature

>>16005171
I have posted on these generals in the past a few items but i think my work was too long. So for now I'll just post one of my shorter (not mybest) poems from a few months ago

The Trench of Paths
Nestled in Gaias desolate clevage
Where slave master,
Mutants, Artist, Workers
Cluster into packing,
Lies the most unatrual, and loudest of lands
The trench of paths
Rusting, windmills, spinning
Powered by bruised engineers,
It seems they always did
Shallowed, waters, blackened
Flowing so slowly,
Yet moving forever
It seems they always did
Tall oaks, rotting,
Decaying slowly,
Yet not ackowledging the coming death
It seems they always did
Each day allowed, they sat in the hollowed night
Against the ashen towering stones
Staring at the moon,
Full, halved, cresnted, gone
The wrinkled old miner,
Praising all of the sattelites glow
Not ackowledging is instability
The blonde youtful bard,
Serenanding what had been stolen,
Cherising what little beam still shone
The rugged soldier
Angered at the ever darkening night,
Swearing to avenge the blackened
In those nights,
They contemplated the trench,
But then one day
A million miniscule afflictions
Rose from the seas,
And onto the roads,
And so a land of paths,
Electrified
But yet they still sat on the rooftops
Bickering about the moon,
And so the affliction,
Stirred the souls,
And then there shell
Blown out,
There ashes against the towering stones
They became monuments to forever
Only past to the future,
Nothing more