Poetry #2 .Lost souls surround the mid-air,bemusing our elation and happiness .Triumph is so rare in these fields,let alone by failure strangling us,leaving us with no air to breathe .Execution of success is the greatest sinister accomplishment,as demons bewilder our oblivious minds .Gimmicks of the evil echo around our inner realms of thought .No passion is no fashion but the stashing of succession is a profession .Why has this Demon superseded our lives to a fact that it comes as a norm to human race that our souls are internally ashing? .These thoughts are of the burden of the world,My spine crumbling with pain .Poverty walks in our idyllic paths,while it feeds us with the relish of wrath .Why should I perish amongst the perishables .Why is the sea full of blood whilst people still act saint on me? .OLord answer me,I pray like the prey of diurnal predators .Cause it seems like this feeling of failure has overcomed and conquered even the world .As i lay Mourning for the pain caused by nobody but somebody .I vow that I will kill this feeling inside,leaving my heart bleeding and my Psyche immediately subdividing from my body -No motivation #RealWordTriumph
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 12:18:34 +0000
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