it's a prison, a prison of mine indeed.
A prison i've made for myself, a prison made by my deeds.
an inescapable room, a door with no key;
A prison with me inside, a prison inside me.
a prison with no windows, no room for even a glimmer of sunlight,
twas the time to turn the heads of those who ignored to what is truly right.
The truth, the false, all forgotten by the ones who never had to fight
all morals, all laws, spited by society and deemed useless by the so-called wise
Everything is fake, fabricated, a fib, and a lie
those who fought for the right had already died.
YOU ARE READING
My Many Memories
PoesíaA poem collection, with stories to tell. how you see it is what it becomes. My poems are yours to mold.
