Till the strong cry,
And the weak fight back,
Time belongs to the unseen beauties,
Everything is God's art,
But only open souls can see its vigor.
It seeps through the walls,
which built by there oppressors stand,
Virtually impassible.
Till judgement, unconcerning, ends,
They sit with there anxiety.
Waiting for the right starry night,
where freedom will truly rain,
On those that still stand.
With love,
*Innocence~
YOU ARE READING
From My Eyes: Beauty Forsaken
PoetryA collection of my thoughts on how others and I see beauty. I didn't use a poem format; I just wrote till it felt right. Comments welcome on the topic. Please tell me your interpretation. Thanks!
