Cruelty
The world is a cruel place,
A place of stone palaces held up by the hands of the blood-stricken masses.
The world is a cruel place,
Where the young and innocent are seen as stupid and naive, while the old and scholarly are just waiting to die.
The world is a cruel place,
Where I finger the keys of ivory, minorly, writing of my worldly treble, till I jump off the clef.
The world is a cruel place,
I fill my ears with harmony, to drown out my own dis-cord, as I strike a bitter melody.
The world is a cruel place,
Where I sit here, writing, making songs and poems for a heart who’s pieces are too small to pull out.
The world is a cruel place.
I write and pen my troubled chord.
For if I were to look up, down comes the sword.
I'm a modern day Damocles, forced to be a victim of my mentality.
Will anyone miss me?
Will anyone sing a symphony?
Or shall I go down with no destiny,
A footnote, in someone else’s syncope?
My world shall turn black, with the heart of my artifice shown,
I know none who will cry upon a wooden throne.
But in my words deep, I still do hone,
A blade strapped to my wrist that I can only call home.
I feel safe when I'm in pain, because pain is the only person who's been there for me, through everything.
Pain has been there through every ended friendship, every dark relationship, every parasite I let latch to my skin and suck out my joy because I wanted some form of sanctity.
This world is a cruel place.
One that I don’t believe I deserve to live in,
Because in truth,
I am a cruel, cruel person.
And I hope none will cry.
When I finish my symphony.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
