Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Poem #513


Sharp words spoken with haste.
Shining daggers, sparkling lines of pain,
Rip through the thin veil of air,
The invisible, yet weighted curtain surrounding us.
Phrases with no meaning, no structure to their name.
Pungent with falsehoods, intent to inflict sorrow.
Racing against light to the open ear, and eagerly received.
Quick to be believed, lack of substance denied.

The tide of accusations flood over all,
Tugging them into its churning waters.
Each story they tell pulls them all deeper,
And each inch they sink gives then fuel.
Readily following the flow of chaos,
They feel the delight from the tales they weave.
The high they receive from the gain of power,
To ruin a life that will never cross their minds.

And all too easily forgotten, a human soul,
Another's life, hidden beneath the chaotic whirl.
Spun around, yanked about, torn apart,
Held close to curious eyes, prying orbs.
Scrutinized, each moment carefully captured,
So as to provide a horrid tale for others.
And so lost is the broken soul, tearful heart,
Which writhes in the torment of human's morbid pastime.

To be accused, places on the rocky edge,
Where all that's offered is a view of the dark chasm,
The ragged cliff to show your unfortunate destiny.
And not one voice begins to inquire,
Can these statements of others be trusted?
For one must search tirelessly for the truth,
If one wines to know the truth,
And the wrongly accused shall be saved.

No comments:

Post a Comment