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anjali-paiPoems
We create ourselves Pen on paper With little scribbles Of Ink and lead Wordless volumes That endless pages Can not contain We lose ourselves Time after time In mindless journeys Through overgrown forests Un-trodden roads That endless steps Can not penetrate We find ourselves Chained to stones With eagle-torn livers The product of our spirit Worn by questions That endless answers Can not explain We destroy ourselves Word by word With trembling roars Shrinking lions to mice Lifeless corpses That end all lives We can not remain We are created Wound after wound By the thick black blood Seeping from our hearts Empty souls In endless parchment Bound by that Which we create.
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
The Creation of Us
We create ourselves Pen on paper With little scribbles Of Ink and lead Wordless volumes That endless pages Can not contain We lose ourselves Time after time In mindless journeys Through overgrown forests Un-trodden roads That endless steps Can not penetrate We find ourselves Chained to stones With eagle-torn livers The product of our spirit Worn by questions That endless answers Can not explain We destroy ourselves Word by word With trembling roars Shrinking lions to mice Lifeless corpses That end all lives We can not remain We are created Wound after wound By the thick black blood Seeping from our hearts Empty souls In endless parchment Bound by that Which we create.
anjali-pai
Written by
anjali-pai
American
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
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