Poem of a Lost One
I raise my blade in vain protest
To the ever growing spirit.
I stand against it,
But his cries for help remain
Yet to be heard.
I hear his pain and misery
Caused by the raging thing.
I try to help,
But all in vain,
For the creature grows
Ever stronger.
Throughout this land,
The people whisper the name of
This ever-frightful being.
For its name is IGNORANCE.
And by its side,
Its trusty hand,
Lies the thing we call GREED,
As well as VANITY.
The raging fears of this land.
The souls surround me,
So lonely and lost.
They died fighting in
This ongoing war
Of which no one knows the end.
I with my HOPE,
Led them through this raging, romping turmoil.
Only to be faced with loss,
And all our dreams were almost forgotten.
The cold, steel hand that rules over us
Remains unchanging in his ways.
And his indifferent face looks down on us
In its unnerving, wicked way.
Though some resist, they still remain
The IGNORANCE, GREED, and VANITY.
The HOPE is small, but it’s still there
Yet it’s hardly noticed at all.
There’s me, a ‘lost one’, a small person
One of the minimal resistance
I detest the hand that rules the world
But it’s not like it changes a thing.
Copyright © Elena Welsh | Year Posted 2017
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