Poem 3, A scribbled scroll, titled:
Its all about the Lord
(but its all about me)
Pardoned himself for including the Lord
Secretly. Had a little help.
I say its about the Lord (but its all about me)
And written on his forehead:
Pride goeth before the fall.
Darkest of dark
Silence is night,
Whose graveyard feathers
Wish they could describe
A gentleness in his fall.
Dwelled in the land of promise,
Surrounded by melon.
Illusioned a land of sorrow
Surrounded by himself.
Surrounding pillars of cedar
Red bark, blue bark
Wheres the fruit?
He left with papyrus.
His burning eyes
Reflected the fallen sun.
How something so big
And something so small
Could fall without a sound
Is baffling.
His eyelids shivered briskly
Wells of water overflowing
Scorching fires,
Embedded in each Iris.
And carved his name
Among the shadows
Blazing forth humility
With the winds she bears
Burning down the very cedars
Which shaded him from the sun.
Grasping his prize of denars,
Searching the horizon
Theres a town nearby,
For which to eat attention.
The armor of the bard
Faltered
For papyrus seeps blotted ink
Where the pen is left too long
Too long now, have you led
Your very own downfall.
Writing of yourself
When you dont really matter.
Flashing your pouch of denars,
Yeah, you won
But not really
For your denars go not with you.
The bard of me, the bard of I
The bard of muah, the bard of my
The bard of what, the bard of you?
The bard of when, the bard of who?