The dead have been spoken for
But who will remember?
The living must speak for themselves
Will it be violent or tender?
The unborn risk their lives by our choice
In silence they wait
While our minds, a legacy of failure
Play God with their fate
What would make me finally act my age
When youth smiles not upon the wise
Is it to speak to young women without remorse
Or become the stranger who empathized
The shallow lightening flash of narcissism
Strikes close to our children
Which images will they choose for their life
Pleasure or to fight explosions inside the gates of heaven?
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
The dead have been spoken for
But who will remember?
The living must speak for themselves
Will it be violent or tender?
The unborn risk their lives by our choice
In silence they wait
While our minds, a legacy of failure
Play God with their fate
What would make me finally act my age
When youth smiles not upon the wise
Is it to speak to young women without remorse
Or become the stranger who empathized
The shallow lightening flash of narcissism
Strikes close to our children
Which images will they choose for their life
Pleasure or to fight explosions inside the gates of heaven?
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