An army was born with me,
Now they are grown up people with their own agenda.
My friends have friends,to stand together against me.
They were the first to throw a stone.
As a result, I now have a stone fortress,a fosse of shed tears in which they are now drowning.
And when I think about it in my mind,
I think about how much I was myself.
There came a time when the attention disappeared,
and with it all the people who used to accompany me.
I am condemned to my demons,I
talk to them every night.
But at the end of the night there is always a new dawn.
During the day I feed on my loneliness,
sometimes it tastes sweet, sometimes bitter.
But nothing is as satisfying as the view out the window.
They occupy the last circle of hell.
They warm me in the cold season.
It is they who bear the weight of the stones with which they aimed.
They are the ones who bruise the whip forged from their lies.
Their bitterness has been melted like tar,
I make a tattoo of it.
I am reborn each time.
And when they try to look up, they will see a glare that burns their eyes,
burns their heart with envy, they will die in agony.
Your ashes will be fertiliser for my daisies.
This will be their salvation.
YOU ARE READING
Section of Dead Times and Poets
PoetryThis small volume contains a collection of my life's wisdom, dilemmas, downfalls. All of this is related to the burden of youth, complicated human relationships, both friendship and love. In all this chaos there is some hope and solace. For more ope...
