In the night we hear them whisper
As the cold seeps into their bones.
We wait for their shadows to appear
Only to hear them laugh and say "God is not here."
And still they are marching in an endless rhythm
Toward a god that does not listen.
There is no benevolent Master in the sky
Only the clouds and dirt which provide us a stiff and lonely place to die.
Divided we stand under a land that belongs to no man
As we watch the sky with dirt in our eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Embody Me
PoesíaA series of emotional poems that aim to make your soul feel something.
