Ryan Fitzpatrick

Flecks Of Dust/ By Ryan Fitzpatrick

Simple winding weaving road
takes us forth where no man goes
to the fire to the fray, all with out the kiss of day
March ye soldiers far and steady
always wepons at the ready
they wrench the souls of their foe, then send them to the place below
Imps and witches gather round
pouring blood onto the ground
Evil doing what it must, turning men to flecks of dust

Poem Submitted: Thursday, June 17, 2010
Poem Edited: Thursday, June 17, 2010

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