So I walk down the paths,
Of gravelled roads and broken pasts.
Of futures bright, all left unsaid,Silence forced, and forever laid.
As I walk, I sweep my eyes,
Over the rocks, A hundred miles,
And See,
See the reality,
For what it is,
For what it says,
These people,
Standing upon their graves,
No loved ones to visit,
No loved ones now lives
They are all dead,
Buried in soiled Bed.
Some wealthy Tyrant's deed,
The lust for Power and Greed
Like a Sabre, Huge and Vile,
The many lives, it Sacrificed,
Their ghosts now stand,
Faces ashen,
With blood drenched fights,
And trails of pain.
With hands outstretched,
They seem to ask,
Who robbed them of
Their Corporeal Mask?
To tell the tales,
I walk down the paths ,
The gravelled roads, I take,
And leave behind my heart.
Author's Note
Relive the massacres of Eastern Ghouta, Syria in this post...
YOU ARE READING
Self Made Stuff ~••POETRY••~
شِعرP utting words O n paper E xpressing my T houghts R ight to Y our hand
