expanded 10_words poem
The lyre was on the floor and it was broken
There wasn't much else we could expect
so
we carried on.
We carried it as well.
Passed tales to children
fantastic, breathless
wide-eyed wonder.
String-songs lilted
blossom in your heart, life!
Such a thing wasted with
frivilous, despicable joy.
Forget who you wanted to be,
histories come to haunt you
not your own, per se but
in your blood,
hidden.
We're letting you learn
the true faces of your forefathers
and mothers too.
we all have sin in our hearts.
Spell of winter broken
you are outside now
there's nothing more but to forget
the goings-on of before, and yet
It's natural to turn back
The rusted shacks still lean
and persevere supernaturally.
Like a rusted gate to dreamer's paradise.
The lyre is broken.
The years have grown old.
Winter has gone and you must find your own insturments.
Make your own music.
My tale is told.
There wasn't much else we could expect
so
we carried on.
We carried it as well.
Passed tales to children
fantastic, breathless
wide-eyed wonder.
String-songs lilted
blossom in your heart, life!
Such a thing wasted with
frivilous, despicable joy.
Forget who you wanted to be,
histories come to haunt you
not your own, per se but
in your blood,
hidden.
We're letting you learn
the true faces of your forefathers
and mothers too.
we all have sin in our hearts.
Spell of winter broken
you are outside now
there's nothing more but to forget
the goings-on of before, and yet
It's natural to turn back
The rusted shacks still lean
and persevere supernaturally.
Like a rusted gate to dreamer's paradise.
The lyre is broken.
The years have grown old.
Winter has gone and you must find your own insturments.
Make your own music.
My tale is told.