What we're capable of, is fuelling hate,
With those feeble legs, we crumble,
Vulnerability overcomes us, like fate,
And through those buckles, we fumble.
Until no longer we see our chance, now a semblance of dust,
What was once a sturdy monument, made of unforgiving stone,
We die under those reviled hands, brazen is the enemy's rust,
Each statue representing a ruthless life, no longer to pain are they prone.
Our posterity stalwartly tries so hard, to differ from each fool,
Staggering across the asphalt and wreckage, broken is now every bone,
They have realised too late, that vengeance is pointless; that acceptance can be used as a tool,
Now all too late is a ruthless statue, lamenting its life all alone.
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I don't like this poem as much as my other ones, though I'm still trying to adjust to this type of rhyme. As you can see, I tried a different style, instead of my usual and consistent writing. Nevertheless, hope you like it.😊
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Reminisce
Poesía~ Words leak through minds, like too much ink does to paper. They spread silently like diseases and blossom like the non-existent amaranthine in spring. ~ (COVER NOT MINE) (All rights reserved) (A collection of rhyming poems. Part 2 out now) (Hig...
