Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
richard-leylandPoems
Aged and abetted by the illusion of something It transcends the sight my weary eyes can see Beyond the pale, I will hope for this foxhole To guard my heart and beg for some kind of mercy I've forgotten the same lesson again Please tell me what I need to beg my sin I am lonely in this painting of dread Release the colors to see the fate within Here I go again, falling in love with you It's true that I never spoke your name before But it's a star-crossed hope I never told And frankly it's not one I ever cared for Blinded by sympathies and tortured symphonies I cannot bring myself to watch it crash down Between the synthetic sounds, I will bound and resound Until I can see you in your purified gown Distance makes fools of the many and sages of few Words will drill into my conscious light To break down at the mercy of this life To said that I was the one to put up a fight No, I am the martyr of your dreams Dressed in sacred cloth and meant to seem To the masses in your thought, a savior come But only to awake from this ironic dream.
0
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 3:25 AM UTC
Illusion of Something
Aged and abetted by the illusion of something It transcends the sight my weary eyes can see Beyond the pale, I will hope for this foxhole To guard my heart and beg for some kind of mercy I've forgotten the same lesson again Please tell me what I need to beg my sin I am lonely in this painting of dread Release the colors to see the fate within Here I go again, falling in love with you It's true that I never spoke your name before But it's a star-crossed hope I never told And frankly it's not one I ever cared for Blinded by sympathies and tortured symphonies I cannot bring myself to watch it crash down Between the synthetic sounds, I will bound and resound Until I can see you in your purified gown Distance makes fools of the many and sages of few Words will drill into my conscious light To break down at the mercy of this life To said that I was the one to put up a fight No, I am the martyr of your dreams Dressed in sacred cloth and meant to seem To the masses in your thought, a savior come But only to awake from this ironic dream.
Written by
richard-leyland
Canadian
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 3:25 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem