People dread of darkness,
But they don’t dread betray.
Get stale, don’t fear be heartless,
And their life just fray,
All their feels just dress.
A bit of honed venom –
It’s cost of cosy living.
Who cry for truth and freedom?
Who fall the pray to blame?
More dead, than alive, depressed,
Which look for comprehension,
Ingeather. They are faceless.
They’re needless. They’re imressed.
They sob with real eyewater,
Wasted, but nevertheless cry.
Incide they’re as they’re outer – Voiceless, tried to fly
Voiceless
© Copyright: Анастасия Амадаре Майер, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112091707588
Свидетельство о публикации №112091707588
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