Gone
writing, seeing
behind teary eyes:
lies
in disguise;
love and hate,
war, we paint
a picture, of what we want
not what we need
and we pray, each and every day
that they’ll stay,
but they don’t;
they won’t;
they can’t
they sift,
through our fingers,
but they linger
in the crevices of our hands.
they demand:
love and affection;
mass destruction;
corruption
of the mind;
the body;
the soul.
they linger
in your bones;
hollow;
an emptiness
you cannot disguise, with lies.
empty;
a dot;
a blotch:
small and insignificant, issues,
masked with tissues, to take away
the pain;
the suffering;
the memories
but they stay, and won’t go away;
not today, not any day. so you lay
in bed, and wonder
how it got this way:
to the point
where you can’t speak;
can’t hear;
can’t listen
to anything but the melody:
silence;
loud as sirens;
full of violence;
absolutely still, and your will slips away,
so you say,
“it’s a dream”
though it seems;
unreal.