On the outskirts of the old shanty-town
And beside the old river brown;
Lay the white stone walls of the dead city
With their iron veins red in pity.
Rests in guise of a bitter old man
Guarding with its last breath a long lost clan.
Knowing very well the skies have changed,
The world it knew is tired and deranged.
In time the walls grew old
Along with the fools and their gold.
And now the dweller have long since gone
Waiting silently for the haunted dawn.
A Gruk about Gruks
If you wish to write a Gruk
that's witty and smart,
then don't go on reading a crook
like this for a start.
Whispers that I here beneath my feet,
So angry, so cold and so restless in there soundless beat
Like the dwellers in a city they scavenge and cry
Never knowing that the fountains have run dry
They foolishly prey at requiem for the souls
Of those dearly departed and the ones which got lost in the fold.
Yet unaware of the beasts that stalks them
They are golems from an old and haunted realm
They tell a story of a legend who once roam
Killing those who strayed a little too far from home
And now, silently they dread of their long lost past
Which for the giants above ‘long as a moment last.
So a thousand generation have since been born
Just beneath my feet they laugh and mourn
Unto this page you look down upon me
Inked in sulfur A poem that you see
No time shall be wasteful to heed this beggars' plea
Read through once , or a glance shall reaffirm your glee.
Lest thou not judge me yet, the very first verse it be
lexis as my soil beneath, shall I grow a like a tree.
Unto this page you look down with delight
Inked in sulfur my words streaks of light.
Someone wrote me on some tumultuous night,
With voices that broke out in a rebellious fight.
Thou keep on reading, my words do not fright
None make I choose A Wrong from a right.
Unto this page you look upon my rhymes
Inked in sulfur I bleed for my crimes.
In this parchment prison , I have done my share of time
But none shall deny , my vernacular chimes.
Thou have seen far to know how I rhyme,
like a preacher with words that are his dimes.
Unto this page you see me beg and borrow,
Inked in sulfur do you see that I've filled with sorrow?
Yes, I am selfish , who hath not been so,
I undress myself to You ; don't forget me tomorrow.
My words are unspoken yet I speak to thou
Like Hopes spring eternal , my words do follow.
Unto this page I live with my madness
Inked in sulfur none shall rid me of my sadness
Read me through , and thou shall see my nakedness
For None to wear those words of kindness.
I've but troubled you with my tail that is all but less
Closer to a beginning, now that an ending is to address.
Unto this page you see me left with a few
Inked in sulfur, hope I haven't poisoned you.
For I need to be free ,before my ends drew
Closer than anyone cloud plot a rescue.
Oh! my strange reader, you have but none left to view,
But I know I've found a place in a mind anew.