Dreary Tribe

Small portions of the world
Started to star in certain parts.
To write a book on the petals of the earth
Is like a nameless darkness,
Small is your name of flames.

It is difficult to see the dark and desolate
Mountains that conspire and hear
Your praises, as you strictly command
The lives of the groundless trophies.
Dreary females live among the weeds
So that deviants inherit their loot.

The one who strikes at the heads
Seems like an equal being,
Twin daughters are twin sons,
Many children are the proper nation
Seeing sides of a square
Like the wrath of a doctoring tribe.

I am your partnership, your tribe,
Licking food off the poor plate,
It feels like tremors from your tongue
As folding is a sense of misery.
Small parts of the earth in this area
Pant like dogs far too ahead.

Friday, August 1, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: people
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