Always trying to be happy,
when really there's no joy.
Always wondered, if joy was eternal happiness,
what's the word for eternal sadness?
For joy sounds like some far-off dream,
hoped about, wished for, but never to be had,
like myths and legends it's been sought for by so many,
but how many really have had it within reach?
Because I surely don't.
It's like my pain is my balm,
like my tears soothe this hell,
and it seems I'm the monster in the end.
But really when the bleeding stops,
when the scars fade away,
Where's the joy? where's the light?
Faded like so many lives.
Darn the world, darn the thoughtless smiles,
given so easily,
so quickly that
I don't even feel their happiness.
But why do smiles mean someone is happy?
What ancient text, what God-sent word,
says that they mean good?
The gun is cocked,
all metal edges,
gun is raised,
shining steel,
and then there comes a heartstopping
bang.
Followed by countless more,
so that after all, privileged or poor,
we're all going down.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of Death
Poezja"You kept saying that you would never die, that you would live forever. But here you are, and here I am. Isn't it funny? I'm here to take your soul. Did I mention, I love my job? Oh right! I never told you. I'm the reaper who will reap your life." B...
