I- Father
Searing is the the sun In his desolate landscape
Home to no creature, saved for the winged
As even they fear himself in loftiness for angered
He has become with the Realms of the living
And rage he shall In the homes of man
Paying back deeds unforgotten, loathing them deeply
Hate Seeded with The fruits of betrayal
II- Mother
Softly She shudders. Cracked an broken
trodded a pon endlessly by Untold numbers of collased Soles, her lements Shreeked out in a forgotten toung
So sick she has become, great reaking sores on
her torrched Flesh, black bood spilled a sunder
The greedy rejoice in her despair
While the learned weep in there
I- Father
Searing is the the sun In his desolate landscape
Home to no creature, saved for the winged
As even they fear himself in loftiness for angered
He has become with the Realms of the living
And rage he shall In the homes of man
Paying back deeds unforgotten, loathing them deeply
Hate Seeded with The fruits of betrayal
II- Mother
Softly She shudders. Cracked an broken
trodded a pon endlessly by Untold numbers of collased Soles, her lements Shreeked out in a forgotten toung
So sick she has become, great reaking sores on
her torrched Flesh, black bood spilled a sunder
The greedy rejoice in her despair
While the learned weep in there
Pre·ten·tious is a word I have spent much time pondering on. It is the fear of every artist to be pretentious. No artist wishes it. Most fall into it. the dividing line between inspired and pretentious is substance. A coward writing of bravery will always be pretentious because he has no courage in him. At best, he fakes it enough to fool the weak minded. Inspired is when a brave man speaks humbly of his fears...