Quiet, carefully, as we walk down,
The voice in our heads sing round and round.
Our knife, safe and silver behind our back.
Ready to jump in for an attack.
The gun turns,
Our throats burn.
In denial,
Of the trial.
Claws of iron, ripping into cloth.
Smashing dishes and tipping over broth.
Intelligence is a key for survival,
It's that, or die without a revival.
So here we are, safe but sorry;
There's nothing we can do except worry.
Here I am a survivor.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poetry
PoetryWar breaks out, Or so they shout. The odds of winning Are in doubt. We have no clue What the war is about, Yet we fight On and out. I'd like to get some stuff off of my chest. Some words I'd like to say. Some things I want to admit. All can be said...
