The Shallow End - Poetry

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Unsplash

Flowing ever so gently,
Down towards their end.

The people were sick of it,
Feeling as if a prisoner of gravity.

The land of the dead,
Cried a hollow song.

Echoing deep from the woods,
A tinkle that twinkled.

Who was the messenger of death?
We can never be so sure.

These were times of war,
Not to be taken lightly ever.

There was no right or wrong,
Or so they thought.

The fury of the ancient one,
Lead them to Damnation.

Giving them wings of war,
They flew across the might ocean.

Ready to spree,
They stood a waiting.