Shrill like the screech of dying birds you talk with such sorrow in words watching sadly the blinded herds there is no mercy in their hearts
A tale of hatred spun in waves like beasts erupting from their caves on a grieving Earth that none saves blood shed only one colour: red
Energy precious not to waste On the tip of my tongue I taste One world to foster with no haste Together we are so much more
Reading of the poem:
Written in the context of Ronovanwrites challenge in Ovi poetry using as inspiration the word “haste”. For more contributions and to see the rules, follow this link
