Again I see,

your desolate face.

From pain you flee,

but you're losing the race.

 

And I stand in silence,

choking on words.

 

You smile,

but it echoes.

You try to beguile,

but hurt shows.

 

And I stand in silence,

choking on words.

 

Then I realise,

you fool many with lies.

Only few see through the guise.

I see dying in your eyes.

 

And I stand in silence,

filled with disdain.

Caused by conscience.

Because I know I caused the pain.


Submitted: January 23, 2013

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Comments

Bert Broomberg

I enjoyed this poem a lot. I've got a suggestion about the form, try breaking up the last line in seperate lines so that the pace of the poem gets altered towards the end. I think that will add to the dramatic effect.

Thu, January 24th, 2013 10:17pm

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