I built the mountains, you chewed the land
My landscape; the model of a hand
You spread life thin, a distant place
I drew your holes; in time, a space
Raised arms (I'm) higher in disbelief
We wrote her language on a leaf
The point was drawn, dipped pen to land
You searched for point, you found but sand
Was asked for peace, ask not your brothers
Was searched for truth, search not the others
For what you seek through spit-out land
Is but an imprint of my own hand
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If you're going to use the "land" rhyming scheme, make it longer.
ReplyDeleteI also hate rhymes.
Can't say I particularly enjoy them either, but it came out the way it did.
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