Makers
Take this sun away
Throw it into the fray
When I'm down
You kick me in the heart
Leaving me to wallow
With my heart bruised & hallow
Left dreaming
Deaf to the electric screaming
Screeching in my brain
Nick naming me Cain
Translating hurt as shame
Calling me weird & maimed
Blinded by the harvest moon
I start to act like a loon
The onslaught of craziness croons
Morphing into an anime cartoon
Tracing the outline of having fun
My hopes are buried with the sun
In the game of saints & sinners
We're all winners
No ones ideal is any better
Let's break bread, let's have dinner
At the chapel
Or someplace finer
There's a light shinning in the distance
The glow illuminating my sleep
Exposing every creep
Crawling back into my closet
Of discontent
In the storm of injustice
I lament
Writing letters to a nameless power
Urging for the removal of cowardice & ego
Unheeded are my words
Falling on deaf ears of entitlement & violence
Yet I will not be silenced
For we are the making of our own demise.
Copyright © Skyy Allen | Year Posted 2015
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