Is this your solicitude collapsing?
Or do I hear the rubbles of wood?
We're nothing but waste of couple of leathers,
Thrown in a heap, supposed to act good.
Do you often fight the urge to kill somebody?
Or does world walks off the ashes of the martyrs?
Forgotten, dethroned, lost in the continuity,
reborned in the burns of thy tears?
The fights that were fought were some greatest,
Now are we supposed to be in debt forever?
Do we need not no other chapter to begin?
Neither create nor forge another legend?
Cries are heard and recited as legends,
Cause some fools can't fathom greater good.
We're walking pieces of empty vessels, clanking,
Suprised to someone who rather stood.
We're cowards? No. You're all cowards in herds,
Ashamed of what could've come out of your pain.
There's nothing left to repair, all to the bounty.
Just do me a favor and burn me in rain.
I'll have my peace while you'll try to be perfect
And in the end, both will meet again,
Standing on the porch of the Red-Hot-Hell
Because guess who burned me in rain?
YOU ARE READING
A Quarrel in the Brain Park
PoetryJust some poems I wrote, at different points of my life. Hope you relate to them at some point. Also to remember, it's a collection of poems so there are many genres. See if you'll like either of them.
