• ink_and_solitude 6w

    Tip of the sword

    The words that reside in the utopian palace inside my head
    They will never be slaves to expectations
    Like the songs that pour out of homeless mouths
    Like the wind that blows in deep forests
    They linger in spaces between canyons
    They strum lyres in old fairytales
    And visit orphans at night to bless them parents
    Sometimes their power is so strong
    Maybe I'll turn to dust if they die
    Because they're my weapons
    To hold my breath in the ocean of common destinies
    To survive in the midst of mental hurt
    To stare at life in the eyes as it stands tall opposed to me
    They flow like a strong current
    They stain pages after pages, exploding of the surrealism
    They're my peace and rage, salvation and rebellion
    They can be heard on the walls of my kingdom
    Telling stories of my demons
    Tales about how I fell as the world flogged me
    And rose like a gladiator to return the same