Lost Souls

Drip... Drip... Drip...

All I could see is the souls of those roses in his hands. 

So much blood,

the agony of it all...


The malignant aura spread across the nation

For the sorrow of many where heard.



Was horrenedous to look upon.

The skin was pale,

Extremely white with a man-like body.

For when you enter his sight you see his eyes.


Where black craving the light,

Mouth reaches to both ends of the face, 

with horns facing upwards peircing the sky itself.


His existence was destruction.

As he approached his mouth opened,

For I shut my eyes but could not open them...



This poem is about: 
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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