Our world of hatred,
And its humans, vile, debased, vitiated,
Preferring murder, pain and atrocity,
Over showing a speck of humanity.
Our world of hatred,
Praises the warlords and the absconded.
While they hoard wealth soaked in blood,
The amorous bodies are dragged dead through the mud.
Like many others, I wonder,
How our kin began idolizing the aggressor,
How it defined vindictiveness,
As the subject of attractiveness.
So with our world's hatred adaption,
Love has become the anarchist's weapon.
It turned into the insurgent's ammunition,
The only way to reach loathing's abolition.
In this world of hate,
Mercenaries rule, tyrants dictate,
So the one carrying love in their soul,
Slowly perished in the foxhole.
About the Creator
Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti2 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.