Far behind,
where the moon turns its back,
We dream
till it becomes prohibited,
We set the sails
and watch empty bottles
Swim through rivers,
only the dead fish inhabited.
We wake with a scream
that gets drowned,
In the rattle made by feet
willing to just walk,
Engulfed by the depth of this tunnel,
Where voices fade
like words written in chalk.
Hungry eyes watching backs
laying in the luxury of their chairs,
Black clouds
following every peacemaker,
As if we’re doomed
to breathe different airs,
Just a penalty
for the damage we did to nature.
If it’s true that every person
is a product of his environment,
Then watch us burn
with our hopes accelerating the fire,
And with only ruins
surrounding everyone of us,
To exist is to be prisoned,
so to die is what we shall aspire.
Share:
Definitely a new fan of your creative expression.
Another awesomely crafted poem.
Thanks a lot 🙂