Dragonflies, a butterfly,
So pretty as they flutter by,
Reminds me of a lullaby,
With which I sang you to sleep.
I watch you as your dreams unfold,
Your destiny, as yet, untold,
The tiny hand takes mine, so bold!
A precious memory for you to keep.
A new poem from Cyralost’s mythology
With every delicious victory,
The king grew more mighty,
But there came a time when,
His nemesis was cowed,
Defeated by his own loss of
Confidence; the subsequent
Manifestation of despair that
Was forged by each failure.
The Lay of Liars to Lie on the Leigh
The Lay of Liars to Lie on the Leigh
When the king saw the shadow,
Of the once proud and defiant
Villain, he felt a great sadness,
This was not a win. He had become,
The despot he had endeavoured
To destroy, the war had made him,
In to the monster he was once
Warned about. Decision. Doubt.
The Lay of Liars to Lie on the Leigh
The Lay of Liars to Lie on the Leigh
The memory of each victory,
Turned sour, the sweetness,
Sucked out by the realization,
That history would not record,
A glorious battle; a deciding
Moment where the saga…
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My English teacher shouted: ‘You boy!’
Rather scarily,
‘Give two examples of pronouns!’
And I said: ‘Who, me?’
