‘To be, or not to be?’
In those tragic fates it seems,
the will of mankind are like snowflakes,
interestingly they dance and sway,
to the rivers they return and fade.

No longer is he —
the youthful vigour lost in history’s stain,
like the abandoned orphans in a cathedral,
whose cries not even angels hear,
until another Autumn comes,
when the lost hearts fall.

Near hell’s gate he stood,
yet another trap he was summoned through,
in the face of the most deceitful,
even the purest soul is lost.

How can a child be so cruel?
O it must be humanity’s cost.

In pain he is reborn,
as a black angel,
with wings dark as the abyss,
and a chest heavier than nothingness.

Such is life’s price,
to face the grandest mistake.
For each mistake he makes,
innocence grows into wisdom.
Is such wisdom’s price?
A dark heartless crate,
floating in the cold Alpine lakes,
in an endless soul-wrenching ache.

Published in: on 18/06/2017 at 11:07 PM  Leave a Comment  

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