Oh!
Man of snow skin
who stands atop the world
speaking of crimson victories
and well-worn words
that paint the pain with pride.
You might have hurt
but of causes other than
tinted words and memories
of various shades of warmth
you deemed impure
against shredded ice.
What culture do you speak of,
a vacuum encapsulated
in a show of dominance?
Why do you paint a picture of your agony
to justify,
in black and white
yet holding no value.
Why must you think
your pain be heard
by the heads you so indifferently chopped off,
the heads with pleading eyes.
The dead don't have ears
to listen to misfortunes
of those who planned their demise.
Why don't you speak
of the streams of anguish
that you rode on the blood tinged river bed.
When it is you who has divided
the colours and their ways,
how dare you stand
and say you're part
of a single human race.
~•~
YOU ARE READING
Thinking out loud
CasualeJust a bunch of thoughts, excerpts and a little bit of poetry from a book I'll never write because I have no idea what to do with these scattered pieces of imagination. It even includes weird scenarios that I create in my head that are totally not r...
