(To all of those reading: this is a poem about to friends [Bic Mac and Braeburn] just talking over a western [hence the
description of the dirt] nights sky. It’s abstract, but it covers the prompt)
The ground.
Beneath us lies a layer of hard yet soft, wet yet dry dirt, that shines a brilliant shade of grey over the night sky.
The air.
In between us swims the sea of life that grants the power to express the feelings that we have, through our words.
The sky.
Above us soars the beacon of sleep that keeps us awake, prolonging the dance of the wind, binded by the earth.
We talk of things.
Subjects of love.
Subjects of hate.
Subjects of violence.
Subjects of healing.
Subjects of harmony.
Subjects of discord.
Subjects of lies.
Subjects of truth.
Two colts Cities that are
from two cities vastly different
Held together by one thing
Friendship
This was relatively short and sweet, and something that's not been done often so I thought I'd say "well done" on that front, but it's not very pony and not very well structured. Maybe that was a deliberate affectation. I also spy a "binded" which I'm pretty sure should be "bound"... I think it may be an allowed non-standard deviation.
All in all, whoever wrote it, try harder next time, and for goodness' sake quit it with the