The toil
The sweatdrops
Nights unending
Limitless groans
The picture within
To birth the glory
With pangs untold
The tommorow we speak
The concept imbibed
The future spilled
Desperately we look for the pixels unfold
It has been written
Of generations unborn
To deliver the levites from bounds
We gaze though the prizm
With great expectations
Foetus unformed
The wisemen searched forever
The scribes writes without inks
We behold the mould
The trees eavesdrops for clues
The discerners dicern on
The dove brings our answer
We behold upmost glee
The poem is lovely
@originalworks
Good work.
Nice poem