Towards high places on hinds feet by cereal-in-a-bowl, literature
Literature
Towards high places on hinds feet
Oh heart wherefore is thy joy?
The silence kills the mirth
where once gale laughter had employed
Oh heart thou art made of flesh and blood
and perhaps I should have the claim
how can I surrender them to calloused hands
Who'd sully them with scorn and hate and then!
I let them berate you
spit and chew
the aftertaste withdrew
the stench of sighs
and lamentations
linger in the foul begotten air
perhaps I had not been too wary
the cruelness of the world is such
where purity and joy cannot be left unwatched
they would be ransomed by ill wishers and nay sayers
Oh heart wherefore is thy joy?
The silence kills the mirth
But then a light emitted