So yeah this is a pretty old poem (to my standards at least) and I just stumbled on it on Google Docs (I know, I'm just every where x.x) so yeah, I thought you people might enjoy it. So yeah...ENJOY!!
I was suppose to...
I was suppose to write something pleasant,
Something elegant and beautiful,
Something with a flowing river of grace,
But what,
If any,
Is their for beauty in hate?
The trembling roars of lies,
The piercing shrieks of cries.
The laughter of defiance,
And the cowering of my pride?
I was suppose to write something magnificent,
Something with a beat of a heart,
A rythm to dance to,
And something to be called an art.
But how can there be beauty,
In such a place?
In such a world we call ours?
We think the war is in Iraq,
We think we're safe at home,
But soon there will be war,
Within our very souls.
A tension will build,
Exceeding the capacity of our minds,
All senses will be driven out,
And our only love,
Will be love in hate.
How...
How can you tell me...
To write something beautiful,
When the only beauty,
Is the graceful killing of our world?
No comments:
Post a Comment