All the heroes in my dreams
Died the death of cruelty,
The cruelty that they had shown,
Trying to create archer from my soul,
The brutality that they had shown
Making me the prey.
The desire to hold onto those daydreams
Had died too long ago,
But again certain heroes flashed in
With their horses and riders,
Having their queen by side,
Paddling their horses as heroes in films,
Where one's not satisfied by what they had,
But wanted to make archer and prey
Out of the person they could see right through.
Once life had made familiarity
With this archer and prey game
But never had the idea,
All the brutal heroes
Shall come to play this game once again.
In this game of brutality,
Again all my heroes died,
And I became the rider again.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of Hopeless Romantics: Imperfect Poetic Journey Of Love And Life
Poetry"My love was as cruel as my nightmares, and it was as beautiful as my daydream, which never dare to turn itself into reality, neither did it ever ended like a daydream, the agony kept hanging me like that of half hope, the hope kept hanging me like...
