They came in crowds, millions upon millions of them, full of unkempt rage and youthful abandon. I didn't blame them; how could I? Their city was in shambles, tumbling down around their heads, as the dogs of war howled in the wreckage of their former homes. Soon, they would lose the name-- lose it to a mere and meagre number. Then it would be the streets, then their minds. It was inevitable, and they were well aware.
But a rebel-- a dreamer-- a lover-- always goes down fighting.
They were no exception.
As they marched through rubble and destruction, fighting through tear gas, guards and masses of bullets, they sang...
Comments
mercury yume Says:
intriguingly simple.
Dumb luck Says:
Sweet + simple. I'm guessing you miss London right now hey? A normal description just wouldn't fit, eh?
Fitos Says:
GO WEEEEEST! That is what we'll do!
flashbackbingo Says:
That's pretty cool... sounds like a mob chant. :)
I've always hated rhyme, because in most people's poetry, it sounds forced. I still don't really care for it, even in this poem, but because it creates this sort of chant-like flow, it works pretty well. Nice work.