You cut wings of
Doves and force
Them to fly.
Pluck dandelions,
Only to throw them
In fire.
Give hopes to
Ailing hearts
Then feed apathy,
To cripple their life.
The prayers that
Taste you turn
Into dirge.
The things you
Touch are declared
As spoils of war.
So ingrained are
Sins in you,
That even after
Washing your soul
In the volcano..
The taints still glow,
The guilt still grows.
Leaving you to
Wonder if that's
Really a curse.
Your heart hangs
In the air now,
With no one to hold.
Dear loneliness,
I will break from
Your shackles.
I shall not live in
Vain tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment