The shrills of the night,
making shivers run deep.
So many things to let go,
so many secrets to keep.
The textured flames of fire,
beautiful and hypnotic.
The ashes in the air around,
burning with grace, chaotic.
"Smile, talk, touch, moan!
for the man is looking"
They try to control the flames.
"Keep brooking!"
Dancing around the dark depths,
pasting a pink mask of glee.
Fear and grimace are hidden behind,
"No one should see!"
Reasons buried in hearts.
Reasons none can understand.
The ashes will burn the society.
"Stay outcasted! Banned!"
Used and thrown and used again.
You are a mistake, a disgrace.
"Sell yourself and burn every night!"
A truth to embrace.
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Thoughts of a Juvenile
PoetryWords are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hob...
