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More from ~Amontadillo

White FlagA white flag's the only flag for me,
That bright flag's the only one I see,
And though this war will now ever be,
I know I will be free.

We're living in a broken world of flames,
There's nowhere else to go so here we'll stay,
And though we'll suffer loss and suffer pain,
I know that we'll find a way.

It's no surrender,
We're just refusing to fight,
Though we're not living in a bright land.
It's no surrender,
But we're refusing to fight,
And so we're raising this white flag.

And now we see this little token,
By which our freedom's path is broken,
The people stand, we have spoken,
We are awoken.

It's no surrender,
We're just
PEOPLEAwake and arise and be free.
FarewellOh,
Whence does thy path lead thee?
Sadness, hope?
Where dost thou plan to flee,
When this life wants thee
No longer?
Beyond the flowing river,
At the edge of the world,
Of time, of life?
Shall Charon take thee,
To whence thou canst not flee?
Bound in thy anonymity,
Thoughts banished,
Feelings stopped with the cold?
Alone?
In the chilled dusk,
That encompasses the edges of our lives?
There can now be,
Only one word to thee,
In this strife;
Farewell.
MemoriesHere I stand and here I lie, and here the place that I shall die,
Or live? No difference does it make to me,
As my fate my heart has broken, and my fate is loud outspoken,
Bearing hence the cruel token that I fear and that I flee,
Only that so heartless token that my lone mind seeks to flee,
Carrying a memory.
There are... differences...Of rights and the right ones.
Late Spring     The cold wind blew, but the solitary rider ignored it, stoically bending his head to keep the driving rain out of his eyes. A chill rain... Why was everything cold? Mere days after he had left his home, the clouds had gathered, covering the erstwhile warm sky. Though it was late spring, it felt like deepest winter... At least the trees of the stretch of forest he was riding through took some of the bite out of the wind, but the lone traveller knew that before long he would again be riding over the flat, empty landscape, without any cover, any place to rest. He shivered at the thought, almost jerking his horse to a stop, before realising

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March 29, 2012
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:iconamontadillo:
The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can;
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
___
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
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