Echoes bounce back constantly,
Reminders of transgressions,
blind
Oppression, sad impressions,
Allegations of what might
have been.
Someone even wrote it down,
Polished every detail,
printed,
Sold it retail, turned a
profit
Baked in mortal sin.
Prepubescent innocence is
quell
To feed on fervorance,
And dies e’er it becomes
intense
Enough to feed the quakes.
And we forget, or just don’t
care
To read the notes of
yesteryear,
And so are doomed beyond
repair
To make the same mistakes.
No comments:
Post a Comment