The Ambition

The call is low and far beneath,
The flowers dry up in the wreath,
The happiness is shallow and calls aloud;
To make the sun timid and a lil less proud.

New are the beginnings as shrill as a crow,
Blue bells ringing sharp in the snow,
Tomorrow is shaky and there is no brilliant blue,
Who writes this and must everything be true?

Together the sounds creep and snore,
Many are alone ,tough and gore,
Dark as now and dark as ever,
Fear is swift,now and never.

The shores awash the sins that belong.
The silence can be crisp and strong.
The moors are cold and distant;
Crooked stile creates a slanted bent.

Naked,he comes to the fore.
Every king,he is a whore .
Sell the soul for naught.
What,only this much could be bought?

Your throne is empty as you are dead.
You sleep in a rocky bed.
Killed so many, to be the best.
Left many a child ; fatherless .

Doomed for now till eternity,
Gnawing your giblets in full gritty.
How do you take what you have lost?
No grave or rolling stone, no creeping moss.

Sneer and laughter floweth galore,
I think I know so much more,
Human Hunger can kill,
Morbid Hopes can do worse more.

So think of what we can do
You of me and and me with you