PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A citizen of continent composed of rolling hills,
the chapel's chanting cleric.
He carries voice and modest wick alight with holy blaze
and sets upon the balconies.
Above eroded, jagged staffs of stone and deadened quarry,
the old cleric becomes the preacher
who speaks of doom from lust and riches gained
from every lie you utter.
The seas below are lost to they who can't avert their eyes
from this beacon of the hand.
Once his song of sermon has reached its lazy end,
he turns to his solitude.
And among all the others dwelt within those hills,
not one could understand a word.