Monochrome
When do we start to question the morals?
This is good
This is bad;
What’s difficult in that?
Don’t do drugs
Avoid fights and thugs…
Yet here I am thinking over
And asking instead “why?”
Before you hit
With the stolen gavel
Tell me who to kill
And who’s worth to keep
Who’s a human
Who’s a thief
Who are you to play God out of fear?
The heart trashes and screams
To do right, the rightful thing
It breaks as it sets in
What was sinful feels right
What’s lawful smells of lies
The mosaic of morals
We’re taught at school
Is really Monet’s blurry lines.
About the Creator
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.