The pain burns my heart
Pretense truly does hurt
They say they are my friends
But they are just my fiends.
Pretenders are worse than murderers
So no need of lying to me
As the lightning cuts through the clouds
So will my heart be.
I thought friends are like brochure
To the most wonderful places for sure
Boy! I was wrong
Because money does not buy friendship
And even the beggars on those streets
Get friends for who they are
Not for what they do or do not have.
I thought I could call them my friends
But they are just passers-by
Like the wind they go by
Not even dare look at me in the eye
Were they my friends or fiends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A really great poem, like it, a great write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, Children Of The Night.