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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