Was he always like that?
It did make me wonder and,made my heart ache.
His eyes told me not,
it wasn't his choice,
his beginning wasn't like that.
Once,ages ago he too was like me,
and yearned to hear stories.
But one day unlike me
he became a sad story.
A story unfortunately no one lend an ear to ,
or even believed was true.
He is the one among many.
He eats but it never fills.
He sleeps but never dreams.
He breathes but never lives.
Those eyes now tell
are always searching,
for a money well.
Arms holding the weight
of the tears he forgot to shed.
Feet bound by rusted shackles,
the mighty forced upon him; so guiltless.
His lips sewed by the needle
we use to swindle others
bur aren't we are deceiving ourselves?
This question mark will remain forever.
Till we are woken from our self inflicted, false slumber.
YOU ARE READING
SYMPHONY OF WORDS
PoesíaHighest rank #40 These words are a part of me, my emotions. They take root from my innermost intuitions. Every poem is different and conveys the tune of my heart. This is my first shot at writing and I hope you find it worth your time spent. Pleas...
