The Creator Chronicle: We the Mother of Dragons

Blood, sweat and tears,20151207_170256 (4)
Thousands of years went
Into your resurrection,
Broken sections of glass

And sand spilling time on
Our hands like senseless
Murderers, a God of likes
A shepherd to the an unlikely

Following, hollowing out
Books for you to devour,
The hour of creation, standing
On the precipice of this nation

Flag billowing in the wind,
Skinned to reveal fabrics flesh,
Trapped behind mesh wires,
We keep you safe from pikes

And pyres, essence of hate and
Screaming fires, yet still you
Demand a humanly chance to
Roam this land, wreak havoc

And destroy bands of soldiers
Lifting rooves and smouldering
Innocence with the frost in your
Smiles, the worthwhile result of

Ashes and soot, these missions
Were put on hold, huddled in
The freezing cold together we
Brace for the rebirth of this race,

The taste of copper on our tongues,
On edge, we are ready to run for
Our lives, chances of survival are
Limited, the long prohibited violence

Cannot be reserved for eternity,
This city will meet certain demise,
At your four pronged touch and
Masked disguise, you have waited

All this time, covered in sludge and
Grime, patience slowly unwinding
Until the chains rattle and snap,
And us, we scientists, hide behind

Scrap metal and dismembered spines
Of your enemies, soaring freely, our
Majesty has returned to claim the
Golden throne, and restore this hull,

Once sacred home to the charred
Wasteland you once knew.


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