Pitch

The flakes blow fake
upon thy nake
-ed chest
lain bare
to face
the world, foresake
-n whom none’ll take
The sun does scorch
the flakes get torch
-ed; they
aren't but
cotton:
oh how they forge
cold-balm for scourg
-ing heat that burns
your heart and turns
sweetest,
sour Why
will those
favored by Sun
help you, and churn
profits to loss
for you so dross
just so
you live
sans pain
Respect thy boss
Even if toss
-ed, forgotten
Who cares how rotten
thy kismet be
They run
business,
the world, cotton;
they have gotten
right to displace
ye from the face
of earth
for great
-er good
Mayst find solace
in such grand place:
this world, where
the weak are left
to fall, like the
naked flakes,
into dark
-ness
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Comments
absolutely beautiful write. I am following you feel free to return the favor. Welcome to Cosmo.
Thanks Lisa! Will surely return (it) ;)