Rite is celebrated in honor
of the newly born sparrows
Proud of the clans around
the route beneath the sea.
The least depressed before
the departure were the single ones.
Every year was someone missing.
They talk around the fire about things unspeakable.
Things capable of not letting they go back.
Early mornings frost the boats
Turn the motors to avoid
The frost in the pipes.
Boots secure. No turning back.
The gray air mixed up
With the stone of the port,
In 10 mn no creature could see,
Even with output electronic
Proper equipment.
The route was in front of all,
At the deadly sea
Or at the unforgettable earth
Were demons prayed to unleashing powers
With no name, just fear to remember.
Temperament and temperance
Will tell the abyssal difference.
Everyone hope for boats full of false cod
And everyone looked up and ask for the best.
There was no best route to rite
The pathway was caught by Legion
A demon more extended than all sea fishes.
No more history was ever heard about Rite Town.
- Autor: Mera Gente (Seudónimo) ( Offline)
- Publicado: 18 de noviembre de 2013 a las 07:50
- Categoría: Cuento
- Lecturas: 50
- Usuarios favoritos de este poema: El Hombre de la Rosa
Comentarios2
Escrevo estas coisas assim como como bolachas, que nem sempre gosto.
Always very rewarding reading your poems great friend Mera Gente
Greetings of friendship de Críspulo
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