Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Stay back Don't get to close The quietest of us Fear the most We fear And fight our demons While life passes by But no one can hear a sound No one sees enough to ask why The prison of silence can be torture Being here all alone But for some of us it's a blessing To not have someone asking if we're home For me it's best to be kept away So those around me don't hurt For my heart is constructed of ice But my mind is built of fire Conflicting within me Making my need for isolation more dire Here in my kingdom of ice and fire I am the queen Ruling however I please With a civil war on the horizon Yet floating through time with ease So you wonder why people ignore us Well for some know all to well That the quietest of us can be the most dangerous The wild cards that can't be helped But don't worry Not all of us strike poison So if you dare go greet them Make sure to bring your knives
0
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
Silent Wild Cards
Stay back Don't get to close The quietest of us Fear the most We fear And fight our demons While life passes by But no one can hear a sound No one sees enough to ask why The prison of silence can be torture Being here all alone But for some of us it's a blessing To not have someone asking if we're home For me it's best to be kept away So those around me don't hurt For my heart is constructed of ice But my mind is built of fire Conflicting within me Making my need for isolation more dire Here in my kingdom of ice and fire I am the queen Ruling however I please With a civil war on the horizon Yet floating through time with ease So you wonder why people ignore us Well for some know all to well That the quietest of us can be the most dangerous The wild cards that can't be helped But don't worry Not all of us strike poison So if you dare go greet them Make sure to bring your knives
I worry this one is all over the place
florencemaude
Written by
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem