Snow is falling on my face,
As I wonder at this worlds fake grace.
Is there anyone who cares
About those who have fallen,
Those whos lifes were shortened?
Thousands of victims of destitution
Wander around such wastelands
Under the merciless gaze of watchmen.
Who will save them from this insanity,
Who will be their salvation?
I see those of sympathy around me.
Will they go rescue them?
No, sympathetic is all they are,
They will never rise to take action!
I see the rich and popular,
Will they come to rescue?
No, they fear what will happen
To their wealth and high standard.
The world has now become a battlefield
With many voiceless and wordless soldiers.
They prepare for war with heavy yokes,
A symbol of their persecution.
I see the youth rising up before them,
Pleading for love and mercy,
For unity within such a vast population.
The watchmen stand in wordless wonder,
Their eyes are beginning to open
As they scan the land before them.
Could they possibly be merciful
For those in such quiet destitution,
Or will they blind themselves
From such destruction?
Snow is falling on my face
As I wonder at this worlds fake grace...
By Tiffany Kennedy
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1 comment:
I like this poem and its title, I believe a title can usually only come from the poet and that you've done a good jorb on both. How's that for a run-on sentence? See what High School taught me?:P
Love ya!
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