Spiritual
Let no living man point a finger at anyone
and say this is my enemy
for a lot is masked
the eyes see only the outside
the spirit slaps and
makes the wicked run man
for it is only when we are dead
that the eyes become open
at our burial we get to see and know our friends
while few are crying rivers
many are ordering for more wine.
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.
