They tread the earth with sullen faces. As memories of quaint little houses full of love and the wars they fought to keep them, pass through their heads like a thousand fireflies blinking out just before dawn. They cry into their hands and scream at the sky. They claim it was only fair to let evil take what it did not earn, but at the funeral of our spirit we ask ourselves. Is this justice?
A riffle sticks out above a child's grave, for in this wasteland there are no crosses. Violence is the only god they praise. Ashes and tears cover their faces like a mask hiding their shame. When leaders turned to fools, common sense fell upon its own sword. The radiation in our bones is the price we pay for so called progress.
We dwell here in the ninth circle of hell for we are traitors to freedom. Revolution was our mother, but we abused her power of liberty and then slit her throat in the dead of night. We drank her blood from wine glasses believing we had brought peace by taking her life. Little did we know that it was poisoned.
So now we tread this cursed ground, lost and forgotten, neither dead or alive. Broken for all time. We all must suffer now, because while not all of us asked for this, the ones that didn't allowed it to happen. So I ask you, is this justice?
YOU ARE READING
A Walk Through Life
PoetryThrough this cold and lonely world we walk with bare feet on course gravel and this book is like a pair of sandals. Those who want to find a better way to think should read this. Some of these poems will make you smile and laugh and some might make...
