She is the selfish,
He is the crude.
They are the victims
Of something untrue.
Grown to inspire
Grown to protrude
From all of society
Who knows not what they do.
Their faces are hidden
Under deep deep scars
From all of the hatred
That tore them apart.
Yet even with this,
Their souls lay untacked,
Bound with barbed wire
Instead of huckaback.
Their reality is true
As the way they've been born;
Nothing that's false
lives forever in scorn.
Faces alight
Not from their own fire
But from all of society
Who's built up its pyre.
Their scars shrivel up
As they watch it all unfold-
The burning of books
And stories not told.
YOU ARE READING
Emanations Of The Heart
PoesíaΞ if actions speak louder than words why is the pen mightier than the sword Ξ
