Hate hides tired eyes
Behind all is sacred reason
We hide all with selfish treason
It's not right to hide the things we posses
We can carry and conceal
Or maybe lost can feel.
Tired eyes tell tales behind eyelids of masked propaganda
The filter to the things we had granted immunity from
We weren't free after all.
Tired eyes hold enormous beauty
Within restless nights hold terrors and frights
With insomnia we only sleep when we're dead
We can't build a bridge or a gateway to faraway places of clouds and comfort,
Trapped here, all are exiled to nights of wide, tired eyes.
.
2019
YOU ARE READING
Mine
PoetryThe title "Mine" has more thought into it then one may originally anticipate. Though that's common theme in the world of meaning. Calling it "Mine" refers to the hardships I've dealt with in past years. When dealing with that I went though motivatio...
