petra pen


Part I


Gut drilled with pain
Cuts from glass shattered
My being is sickly, my happiness phantom
Sad people ask other sad people for ransom
Other sad people bomb, faces are battered
The sun will burn us out
The sun will then burn out
We're all just a matter
Our lives don't matter
The past is cruel for passing
Passion once felt real
Time fights hard and violent
Sorrow creeped up silent
Hope fades away, hurt gets fatter
But it's all just the same
The former, the latter
We're all just matter
Our lives don't matter

Submitted: Friday, July 04, 2014

Topic of this poem: miscellaneous


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