Sunday, November 26, 2006

I hated everyone at 14

The world will tell all,
Yet will never be told.


Deeds will be forgotten,
Your sins carved in gold.


Don't tell a broken heart to heal when it can.
None know a broken heart but a broken man.


They shall pour till they cannot,
And their tears, they will dry.


They will build a tower of rage
And keep their fire alive.


Don't name their murder for the poetry of angst.
None but them know the words they had sang.



5 comments:

Until..... said...

Dont know what to say. Hope you are right.

vichchoobhai said...

The evil that men do liveth after them (but not carved in gold as u say unless u r referring to Napolean whose tomb in Paris has gilded notations about his bloody conquests)
the good is oft interred with their bones
That was shakespeare.
But I like your couplet better it is more succinct and conveys the same meaning.
Broken hearts and raging fires, u
r delightful when u write in a frenzy.

Anonymous said...

The fire is very much alive in this "Poetry" than in any Broken Hearts or Men..

Until..... said...

Write more.

therapy said...

Yeah, write more:)