Stabbed Mirrors

Wed, 01/25/2017 - 19:21 -- Mateos

Everyone is the labourer of their own dominion

With each deed carried upon the towers kept till the End.

They will soon be discarded for another one till they are rustled in between.

Time is the oppressor for everyone's dreams that mark our own worlds.

A universe too contained stretches across the blank fountains,

Erasing and collecting spaces around them.

She nor he would understand my own defeats

Let alone the smiles I earn off of their faces.

It is easy to remark sympathy as a minor assumption.

Cracking the whip against the wind is heard for miles away,

Yet lies travel faster in a desert.

 

No one can relate to the scars I scanned from afar,

Inside the caves of one's mind

Rests the small idle clouds filled with stones carved of gems.

I can't think anyone is worthy to see the world how I feel.

Colors mean nothing to an average eye gazing.

My frames are crafted from the finest to touch the paints.

A fragment is lost upon the blenders of shame and pride.

Sharpen those pretty black specks till they fall out

For others to desperately taste and consume what is yours.

 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

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