Buried Truth
In sobriety, we gazed at the truth they buried
The grave still sticks out a note of barren words
On its epitaph reads onlookers are the trumpeters of loud silence
The drippings of its last breath pitch on our trembling feet
A glued oath of silence for another thousand years
Like a stamp of blur colours, it fades away
While the biting haunting emptiness descends on our souls
Poetry Slam:
This poem is about:
My community