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A Legacy of Sores

Fists forged from selfish meat

Dissolve at first hand

Eyes that have no struggle seen

Squint at the horizon

Wet skin now paper thin

Reveals a core of dust

Broken vessels in

An ocean of rust

Shallow rocks meet hands

Blood upon the sands

Drowning water dance

Metaphorical

Didn’t watch the clock

Didn’t say enough

Didn’t care at all

A legacy of sores

Cold is the hand once calloused

Impressions of wilting strength

Now govern our instincts

Strangled by softness

And now only eerily soft

The skin of the host

Where before the shield of better men

Bolstered armour upon bone

Where once we weilded mighty swords

That triumphed into stone

Cold is the hand once calloused

Impressions of wilting strength

Strangled by softness

That triumphed into stone

That triumphed into stone

Where before the shield of better men

Bolstered armour upon bone

Where once we weilded mighty swords

That triumphed into stone

A legacy of sores…

As if it would be easy

As if you could purchase victory

As if all the blood and toil of our fathers

Meant absolutely nothing

As if it would be easy

As if you could purchase victory

As if all the struggle and toil of our fathers

Meant absolutely nothing