They keep tearing at the flesh of my soul, And eating it as if it sustains them. They strike in the dark And break a piece off. Soon I shall be empty, A drying shell from which you can't even hear the sea. Pretty yet faceless, They took it all from me, For pride, for "Love," The reason's all their own. See this tiny chain around my neck?? They say it's gold, They say it's true. To me it's only iron, The golden sheen is paint. I trust them not, Their words are faulse, Or selfish, all the same. They lead me, They pick me up, They take me here and there. But in everything they give me, And everything they say, I see not Love, but hunger, Hunger for my soul. I am but food for on their platters, They feed off me, I'm tired, I'm tired of it all. All I want is laughter, Or a loving word or touch. Simple things and simple wants, Yet all beyond my reach. Now my arms are small, The strength in them is gone. They took it all, you see. Now my heart can barely pound a beat, Now my legs can hardly walk a street, and my eyes, it hurts too much to be. If only i could understand. I was a girl, a child, Too strong for all my good. It was a beaken, Like the holy star to Mary. I shone down on them, I came to help them, For a sorry sight they were. Pity drew me closer, Innocent that I was. They caught my wrists, And clipped my wings, And tied me to a stake. They say they love me, No wonder that they do, I gave them life, Or should I say they took it. But it could have been a gift. It's too late now though, Simply put, it's gone. Though I'm tired to this stake, The ropes do now begin to wither and die, But as do I.
Reason for writing:
I felt sick of seeing innosence being betrayed.
Birth sign: Pisces
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by S. L. Butterworth.