If you knew
You'd be sorry
If you felt the things
I've felt
Ignorantly you're inflicting
Pain unto me so quickly
Yet you ask why I am flinching
Away from the sword you wield
So heavy in your hands
Your strength is frightening
This is true,
But this weapon
Is not one you're trained to use.
Your words are callous,
Their tone is cold
Yet still you ask
For my hand to hold
But ignorantly again I follow
The lamb to the slaughter,
So willingly I am led away
But I suppose for once
With your false pride you can say
That I'm the slaughtered
Lamb you've slain
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Hour
PoetryNot everything rhymes Not everything has to Of all that is bright And what hides in darkness The loving The hiding The living The Binding It hurts us not To follow a purpose To quell our minds dullness And to find our own fullness. Of sentences Of...
