That such dreams may be satirised, that none may look beyond for truth, that pain and sorrow be intensified, that the King may laugh at Jeremiah’s youth. Prophesy to us lies. Prophesy, who hit thee? The prophecy says he dies upon the wretched tree.
Someone a Poem Wrote •~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~• I am a child wild and free to roam yonder as I please Exploring the world whose lines I fill in many a word Aiming to improve this speck of universe I am Like refining poetry with a flame born from mind This magnificent place and I Growing like vines immune to fire spreading Over pages of life as lavaic ink or overgrown ivy Crackling feelings influencing me along the way To determine what I may or may not do each day Whilst in the silent buzz of everyday curiosities I dream of a time where my blazing blooms blossom Past obscurity and meet the near perfect and truest me The me I hope is closest to You yet still the me you penned It would be more satisfying to understand the mystery Behind how it is you do what you do Creating prose out of flesh, blood, and soul But I’ll settle for the aurora of content rising within Love myself for the wildflower x free volcano hybrid I embody And rejoice in knowing I am someone a poem wrote In the mystical journal of humanity amongst stars