Lonely Souls

The Sequel to "Hands, Bands, and Other Trends." It's just whatever I've written down during my hiatus and whatever comes to mind whenever insomnia wants to be a jerk.


35. The Peasant King pt. 4 (1: 11 AM)

His eyes trace legends in ink

As he tries not to think

Of the ground he now owns

And the kingdom he's always known

Peace, happiness, love, time

Nothing so sweet, nothing so kind

He learns the words from pages so cold

He learns of the world when he's not even old


His hands trace tragedies in the sand

And he ponders the meaning of a friend

He's too poor, too weak, too foolish

He's too nothing and he can't do this

He can't hold what isn't there

He can't tame the air

He can't be the king they need

When his soul is starving and it doesn't know how to feed

So he remains a king of blood and of dirt

He stays distant so nothing can hurt

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