When we are born,
We are born innocent, clean, decent.
Except if we take on our parents dept to pay.
In life, we commit crimes,
We sin,
And we get our hands dirty,
We try to wash it all away,
But once you get blood on your hands,
They never again,
Can be clean.
So we take it upon our children,
For them to pay the price,
And then ask ourselves why are our children like this,
How can you be surprised, by the results of your actions,
And how you got your dirty hands on the innocent,
Because no innocent is ready to carry on a sin,
Of their whole bloodline,
They are forced to take upon.
YOU ARE READING
The lost art of Words.
Poetry"But none of these options were in my story, A story which dried up my heart from hope" What does it take to live with a vision full of words. what is it like to be knotted up in your own dreams? POETRY ALERT!!
