Post by C. Carlüs Xheraltescù on Aug 1, 2012 12:41:12 GMT -6
[Well, here's the first part of my culturally active few weeks. I've done a short story before so here's my go at poetry... Can't let Ataturk out-do us, after all!]
In this old country of ours, we've found
Ourselves anew and born
Once more to that meadow
Where we have grazed.
The winds of change blew,
And through our hair did
Freedom flow, whose shield we bore
But less than a decade past.
With that shield, a sword we now
Hold, whose edge is dull
With conflicts done and old.
The war we waged was lost,
Say some, yet
Proud we stand the same.
For as we sat, the "victors"
Called, and on our feet
We found ourselves again.
Up we rose to stand tall
And march
Through streets we called our own.
They're ours again,
And as we march
The fires of four suns burn.
Yes, the fire of Revolution burns within, and
Freedom's airs carry us.
The Four Suns
In this old country of ours, we've found
Ourselves anew and born
Once more to that meadow
Where we have grazed.
The winds of change blew,
And through our hair did
Freedom flow, whose shield we bore
But less than a decade past.
With that shield, a sword we now
Hold, whose edge is dull
With conflicts done and old.
The war we waged was lost,
Say some, yet
Proud we stand the same.
For as we sat, the "victors"
Called, and on our feet
We found ourselves again.
Up we rose to stand tall
And march
Through streets we called our own.
They're ours again,
And as we march
The fires of four suns burn.
Yes, the fire of Revolution burns within, and
Freedom's airs carry us.
