Through those eyes a shine appears,
Onto a crimson carpet
With the fabric tattered and ripped
The patterns stained with hatred,
But a blessing for a new market
The sight of treasure among demons
Dark magic sweeping through flourish lands
Taking away the beauty behind natural order
With forced labor onto rough hands
A wide smile from satisfaction
Coins, polished with blood, in clean hands
The sins stretched for centuries
Explosives ready for reaction
Initially this post was going to be a poem about perspective, but my mind went a different direction. I hope you still were able to enjoy this piece.
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Itarow Krähe 