J.Osterman
Active member
History's playthings, yesterday's toys.
Uncovering old bones, those same dead ploys.
Buried once before beneath earth and stone,
revived by voices of familiar tone.
Cold, hard steel forged by familiar hands.
Threatening postures, a familiar glance.
Narrow eyes glare, speaking more than words.
Stones sculpted to be thrown at birds.
Kill two with each, four more arise.
The demon slain, never dies.
Memory dormant, the weapons drawn,
again playing out the same old song.
Been many moons since I bothered writing at all. Was listening to an instrumental I like though and this was the result. Nothing fancy, but maybe it'll get the creativity flowing again. Just an observation of how history repeats so often, unfortunately.
Uncovering old bones, those same dead ploys.
Buried once before beneath earth and stone,
revived by voices of familiar tone.
Cold, hard steel forged by familiar hands.
Threatening postures, a familiar glance.
Narrow eyes glare, speaking more than words.
Stones sculpted to be thrown at birds.
Kill two with each, four more arise.
The demon slain, never dies.
Memory dormant, the weapons drawn,
again playing out the same old song.
Been many moons since I bothered writing at all. Was listening to an instrumental I like though and this was the result. Nothing fancy, but maybe it'll get the creativity flowing again. Just an observation of how history repeats so often, unfortunately.
