Nights flies, and old story lies.

Sleep.
A word I dislike.
Something I don't do.
A word for cowards.

For the people,
That are afraid
Of the dark
And dislike the truth.

They sleep,
When others,
Others who I like to call
Warriors

These warriors
They wait for nightfall
To chase their dreams
And to be who they want to be

And cowards sleep
While the warriors scream
And cry in desperate
Struggling to win their war.

And when dawn arrives,
And shines light on the world,
The cowards wake
While the warriors hide

Nights with lights always have a price.

Sorry I haven't been posting. I've had tests this week and poem posting should be back to normal Monday.

Sorry, No poem today.

Even the the prettiest flowers have their thorns.

You wake up in a unfamiliar place, It's happening again.
The story is the same as always, The screams... The Pain... The Death... The Torturer... The limbs being torn away, each cut, each tendon being torn...

You wake up, You're sweating. The room is dark, you check yourself for cuts and blood to find nothing.
The room is cold, you left the window open again.

You try to go back to sleep, but you know there will be no more sleeping tonight.