There is a Sadland songs at the end of every poem that I gave wings

There is a Sad land songs at the end of every poems That I gave wings.
Crestfallen were our swaggered faces
Like pieces of shit wrapped in human skin
We lift on our Medulla oblongatas to perceive the
Truancy of light.
For we Travelled into thin Air
As we sneezes I captured the
Picture of a Sad land
Whose face Resonates the poems I wrote.
Like Father Butterfly shrilling
In the Misty Night.
Like a Boy who only knows Comfort at Night
The Humans Body Contains the Highest
Reservoir of Bullets.
And a boys mouth only the Chemicals
Contained in Bomb.
On this Note
If I Sing a Dirge to the
Sad land I want to evacuate.
Someone would call it a Requiem,
But not a Little care about that.
All I know is I gave wings to a Poem
In which at the End a sad land was the last verses.
Forgive the Tyranny of my pen.
It fled of the cover at Night,
It’s a wizard,
That mould Grieves into happiness.