The Deviant Ones

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
We are the outcasts, your disparaged springs, of wisdom and faith; of virulent dreams
We hold the future inside our breasts; we’ve viewed the memoirs, and seen all the best...

Submitted: May 30, 2017

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Submitted: May 30, 2017

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We are the outcasts, your disparaged springs, of wisdom and faith; of virulent dreams

We hold the future inside our breasts; we’ve viewed the memoirs, and seen all the best

 

But still, you hold us in plaintive contempt; and yet won’t accept the reason we’re sent

 

You pitfall of vipers, you are so far gone; we soon shall not speak and let you alone

 

We are the painters, of illusions you crave; we are the writers of words you once gave

 

So freely from hearts, now tarnished, enslaved; by whimsical wealth which leads to the grave

 

How soon you forget the echo of rain, the elusive warmth felt just after the pain

 

Has been washed away, alongside dismay, which fills up your mind, and ruins each day

 

How soon you forget your innermost self; smothered and starved, in vulnerable health

We seek to remind you of all good things; your passion, your hope, your innocent dreams

 

We are the ones blazing the trail, speaking for they who sigh and travail

 

We are the only life left in this hell; and without our lights…you surely will fail


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