Thread: Freedom Lost

Under the swaying deaden oak
Sway also those decaying folk.
With noose tight around their dead neck
And the wind giving them a cloak.

How depressing, but I don’t weep
The hope gone, but I still don’t weep.
And as I look, to the gray sky
I find the rain queer, as it creeps

For these men, their names are Freedom
Now sways with all the drenched ledum
and soon, shall decay with them too
then come the lost of their kingdom

How we look to eternity
And our knees move fervently
For do we see a black figure
Who sways our death internally

His kingdom is like that of others
And they names themselves big brothers
And we know, yes how we know well
Freedom’s grasp will not go further

(not sure if I should place this in structured due to the iambic tetrameter and Rubaiyat Stanza structure, so I'll place it here for now.)

Great poem. I had to reread a couple of times to get it all down.
I think it can go into structured since it is structured.