PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Authors and arrows

All fall the same

Pointed towards men,

Falling short, knowing pain

Comes from the beating

Of one's chest,

Odd illusions in there

Bleed until there's nothing left.

And still a child resides

Thought dead, resurrected

Yearning to be alive

And to pen with sweat

Another chapter outside

A war-torn

Neighborhood.