Suburban BabylonA Poem by The Winter GreyTo the saint, the prophetess, the broken idol.There is a war in whispering, A silent insurgence. The essence of conformity, Meets hallowed divergence.
I wrestle with the the fire in her eyes. She tells me everything is born to die.
The words of the prophets replaced, By the pride of apostates. Should her body speak in secrets, I'll take them to my grave.
I shudder at the chill in her voice. She tells me no one is born with a choice.
We thrive, we're limbs and branches. Cut off and cast away, Baptized in burning flame, We rise, children of the ashes.
Tandem and abreast, we will follow to our deaths. We penned the bullet that stole your last breath.
Where you've fallen, we will stand. We will carry on. These streets will not remember, This suburban babylon. © 2011 The Winter GreyAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on December 5, 2011 Last Updated on December 5, 2011 AuthorThe Winter GreyCoffeevilleAboutName: Dalton Lee Marks Age: Unknown Height: Quite short. Weight: Quite light. Hair: Black, curly, too long for its own good. Eyes: Light blue, encircled by a halo of darker blue. Rel.. more..Writing
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