TW: Cruelty and Suffering, Dark Imagery, Existential Dread, Violence and Pain, Emotional Intensity.
(Funny how I write this, while being a man myself, Hurt not in body, but in soul's wealth, Unfair we lump together on one plate, The beast's instinct and man's artful hate. Survival guides the creature in its wild, Yet man, with knowledge, crafts cruelty styled, Artistically etched by hands that know, The depths of pain that only humans sow.)
In whispers dark, they often speak,
Of man's fierce hand, of cruel streak,
Unjustly cast on beast's own name,
A burdened soul of unearned shame.
For no creature of the forest, wild,
No predator nor meek and mild,
Could fathom depths to which man dives,
In artful cruelty, where darkness thrives.
Beasts in their nature, pure and true,
Survive and hunt as they must do,
But man, with mind and heart so cold,
Crafts suffering, precise and bold.
In shadows deep, where silence reigns,
Man's hand creates the darkest pains,
No claw, nor fang, nor wildest cry,
Could match the sorrow man's hands tie.
A cruelty so refined, so keen,
In wicked ways and sights unseen,
Artistic in its wicked guise,
A mirrored void of darkened skies.
So speak not of beasts with man's disdain,
For they are pure, and free from blame,
No creature of the earth or sky,
Could match the horrors man can ply.
For in his heart, a darkness dwells,
An abyss where all compassion quells,
Artfully, with a twisted pride,
He carves his path where shadows bide.
In every stroke of pain and fear,
The artist's hand is crystal clear,
No beast could ever comprehend,
The depths to which a man can bend.
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Echoes of the Unspoken
PoetryHere lies a collection of poems, scattered like leaves, shared in the hope that someone might find solace and know they are not alone in their turmoil. Beware, for these poems are not for the faint of heart; they arise from the darkest recesses of m...
