How did our parents make it all look so easy?How did they hide their tears, fears and anxieties?Was it a time without illness? Without sadness? Without death!Or we're the eyes of a child too full of life to see anything else?I can't seem to figure it out.Nowadays I see my parents as people, where before they were ethereal, godly and unobtainable.Their age seemed ancient. Their knowledge, unbound. Their kindness, never ending.And yet now, these things are but fantasies. Tales of fiction. Stories.How can this be?When did it change?Who made this fucked up World?
If god exists, what the fuck is his problem?
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a Broken Man
PoetryHere you will find short examples of poetry, from me, a broken man. I'm not as broken as others, but as a writer, one of the most creative and vulnerable things you can be is broken. If you have one take away from these, please make it this; Check u...
