Pens glide across the empty lines,
scribbling words of some heavy rhyme.
thoughts are overflowing and spilling,
a heart is crying out of it's hurting mind.
Days have now become grey and cold,
colourless mornings for these lost souls.
We wander through this life aimlessly,
looking for the rope that we used to hold.
Hope is the very thing we strived on,
faith was also an article we survived on.
Now that we have nothing left to rely on,
we have lost all the things we thrived on.
A community that can't learn to love,
and we continue to remain divided.
So much pain, suffering and broken trust,
yet who is it that we can confide in?
We remain faithless, we remain faceless,
and everything seems to break us.
A disaster for those claimed as fate-less,
thinking they can change what makes us.
Poetry has now become but simple words,
for any to quote, sing and sullenly recite.
It no longer gives an essence to the world,
it is dead and can no longer be revived.