Two beautiful wings
The butterfly swings
A gust of Air
She did not care.
All she wanted was the flower
A seemingly everlasting source of power
Eventually her goal she reached
But in her wake, life was breached.
A tornado was created, unbeknownst to her
She was blind, corrupted by the flower
History, the tornado has disintegrated
Spirituality, the tornado has obfuscated.
Living in the aftermath, it isn't easy for me
Witnessing the destruction, I try to remain steady
Rotting corpses, their hearts smell of decay
Mindless machines, I do not wish to stay.
If there was a way out, I'd already be gone
But you keep pulling me, as if my life had just begun
Is my suffering so important to you, or are you just blind?
But then again, none of this is real
You're all just pieces of my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Poems Of A Nihilist
PoetryAmateurish Poems I write from time to time. [Everything's written by me unless stated otherwise.] These poems are mostly related to events currently unfolding in my life and almost always have a double meaning to them. Or do they?
