Faces
Worn out faces
In destitute places
Weary eyes
Peer warily at skies
Wavering lips
Where leaves crunch like chips
Wandering hearts
Slowly ripped apart
Whimsical memories
Beneath the surface simmering
Whispers bitterly
Breaking constraints of liberty
Waking to what is true
When some always knew
Wasting our life
On that which brings us strife
Whimpering howls at the moon
Will it all be over soon
Wondering if the last days
Will be spent in a haze
Weary eyes
Peer at skies
Worn out faces
In destitute places
We may be out of time
And that is our crime
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