All of us, we're all caged within
confined by each fault committed and every sin
The scars are within, and conspicuously we're caged
None know , about the inner war being waged
To hold together another subdued soul,
But nothing can fill its gaping hole.
Not benevolence, kindness, nor love,
It widens with every lie uttered and every broken vow
Is fixing our souls an inconceivable feat ?
I wonder what it takes to again be complete.
A pill, a placebo, sheer will power or a bandage ?
To fix our souls and break open the cage.
YOU ARE READING
Wordalmania
Poetry#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016
