Random Poetry

To the Victim of the World

They killed him.
They licked their lips
And stabbed his heart.
Not before piercing his eyes
And tearing out his tongue.
'This poor man' you may say,
Till you learn it was you that day.

You took his sight,
You took his voice.
You gave him night,
In guise of choice.

Have no fear, my friend.
I am no better than you.
We are both snakes of the pit,
Killing all the innocent souls,
While wishing we could love.

That man, he lived
With nothing but his ears.
In the deep, that is enough.
At least i pray it may be.

A poor soul, he is,
There is not a doubt.
I pity his being there,
A life of hopeless drought.

God save you, poor man,
From the hate raged upon you.
God give you the strength
To keep your heart inside,
As pierced as it may be.

To your ears, lonely though they are,
I wish to bear you words of hope:

Love in the face of hate,
Laugh at the smile of death.
The dark cannot kill itself.
So war it with every breath.