Ounce, pound and the dead weight a tonne.
Forlorn, cries a river for so long.
I glance the horizon. The sky bleeds orange an haze.
I was a spectacle to peek, in my optimal speech, muttered but the seed bore mute.
Ounce, sounds of dead weight tune.
Memories pierce holes so the pipe can make its flute.
I went up the grandeur to slide the plain in an ignomine chute.
Their eyes... Barrage! Barrage! Opticle slings flung fangs and deadly venom stings.
If I was able, I would live my life differently.
Every step lands on a pebble keeps me shaking so fervently.
©
©kymani
K