“Damaged”
the canvas can call tomorrow home
the art of chaos falling into patterns
breathing and dying take equal turns
when ashes fall, children clamor to claim
the damage of life, to be defined by the night
the physicality an afterthought to those
who mourn in the silence of their wombs
let the children carry illusions, leave candles lit
to claim an identity of the unknown
shredding respect of those who know.
death that seeped in, speaking in silent woes
clocks pass by eternal tomorrows
which children dream life to be
eyes can’t eclipse the difference
of what matters in between now and never
souls will know to expose their bones
beyond faces, a million layers never seen
sins too unspeakable to ever repent
fall into graves, answers never given
but gone, gone, gone, no asking tomorrow.
2007-09-15
05:50:23
·
3 answers
·
asked by
the w
1
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Books & Authors