* * *
Five… first allies.
Before you can count to three.
Gone. As many maniacs.
As those obsessed with righteous.
Of their own.
Was it so angerful, lustful, monsterful…
Has it such wishful chances for victory.
How silly the concept.
Our commander to a mere lost cause in obvious war?
Before, each one fails to lose proudly.
Are we there yet?
Where we don’t compete…
for things which aren’t ours?
So why are we dancing, darling?
Under the gravity of the pink…
While locking lips with
the roses of the strong hearted queen.
So tenderly sharp and brutal.
Like sleeping wolves on a flowery field.
And why are we crying, morning?
Fever. Gravy. Blink… of each of the swear.
It’s so horrible it becomes pretty, full.
Like demon playing innocent.
Ah, the drudgery.
Like saying “suffers” in snake’s tounge.
Where the blue soul people went to, after all?
The edge of young & white horizon?
Or below what is red and boiled?
Sometimes, to repeat all life’s misery.
Somewhere, we are going to be in one peace.
Who’ll lead the way?
* * *