Original Poetry

Nomad

On a flat world, where the white king rules,
The rest of us chase a setting sun,
And for it are labeled fools.

But I know the dance of stars,
The steady course of planets fall,
How our people wandered far,
How we answered our own call.

Around a green and verdant sphere,
Ablaze with artificial light.
Where the night is always near,
We stretch the limits of our sight.

I am weary, I am weak,
This cosmic race has fractured me.
The twilight in me left complete,
No light within to help me see.

Tomorrow dawns in our hearts,
As much as it does upon the hills.
Yet some nights break our will apart,
And the shadow in us kills.

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