They Made Their Heaven
They that toil the soil,
get soiled through the soil
For they that trespass through this lands passes through
The past, and never ever come back
This place is ours to man, not to maim
And for the blissful beam of morrow',
i shall boil in ravage now...
For the swordsmen, their paradise lies in their swing
For on every battlefield lies not their dead
But their victory
The bloods you see
The hearts pulled apart,
Were colors of the home they raised for themselves
And their heavens they made for themselves
They that pass through this land shall not perish
For their tomorrow our future we lay
The world is not a good place
But should you ever see old age,
Biuld your dreams
Water your pride
Starve your fear
Exercise your patience
Tomorrow when you face the world
Biuld your paradise
For theres no place for people like us on this train
Call life
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
