Wearing
death like a soldier’s cloak
Stomping
around in the dreams of the ignorant
Your
eyes are sweet, green sponges
Capturing
forts, and wayward sojourners
Bright
gray ores trap the dreams of your foes
The
pitter patter of children’s feet grows faint
The
earth tastes like old bread when the seasons cease changing
The
pernicious result of your bronze scepter rule
The path
to your Tree is paved with stolen ambitions
Fairies
glide between woven branches
Unaware
of the rocks all humans must chisel
interesting use of surprising metaphors
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