I used to write poetry some years ago, mostly when I was depressed; I would put my sadness to 'good' use, although the final product would sometimes still be good only for a halloween night! But it's therapeutic, at least in the short run. |
Up on the highest tower of the hall,
Chained to an old and worn out wall...
From a distance
A howling echoes...
The hero walks the path
To face the wrath...
I made it all up
And now it's over...
You wanted to hate me
Because you chose to...
Sprinkling spring,
Beautiful dew...
I made it all up
And now it's over...
The hero walks the path
To face the wrath...
From a distance
A howling echoes...