Had a life built on glass castles,
Tears drowned lost hopes and dreams,
I'm not a man,
For alas, a man doesn't cry,
And my eyes never dry.
But what or who am I?
Am I;
The lessons hammered on lesions.
Or the festered and infested wounds from a better past.
Never scars for the wounds never heal.
What makes the past?
The unforgotten lessons of hurt?
The impossible dreams of a hopeful life?
The naivety and purity.
The bittersweet memories of a childhood passed?
The regrets of rushing through life.
Or is it the hurt in the present?
For if what made me stronger is what didn't manage to kill me?
Where's the strength in my crippled mind.
Or where's the resolve in my shattered dreams that carried with them my broken heart.
Piece after piece.
Or is today the past for tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Kill The Flame
شِعرShort poems relating to some common life experiences and situations. For updates, whenever I feel the inspiration to write something. Might be after a day, a week...who knows
