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Apr 6
Under the ruins of a city,
Is a tear not seen yet shed.
Under the bowed head slowed by pity,
Is a screaming heart that was never wed;

To love and locks despair.
Lugubrious laughter, Suffocated in pillows.
Never to be seen or heard again.
A joke you won’t understand,
Is the Splayed fingers of a dead man;

Tired souls
Pay the toll
To the underworld
Where tears are not seen but shed.
Where love and hope are made a jest.
Where’s city ruins are laid to rest.
It’s crazy that through this carona thing everyone is still acting indifferent to others suffering
Sean Clarke
Written by
Sean Clarke  20/M/Hartford, CT
(20/M/Hartford, CT)   
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