Our house is a ruin of a collapsed world,
A place where bruises cover our face,
Wiping off all the signs of our human race,
It's a great place to be, we are told.
Our house is a ruin of a hell that just died,
Its flames fading, the cold coming in return.
It's freezing, even though it doesn't burn.
When they said we were happy, they lied.
Our house is a ruin, not a shelter or home
For the many of those who need one
And spend their lives surrounded by guns.
Our house is made of cold, dead stone.
Our ruins are nothing, but they're all our life.
A small fire, a penknife and this.
Our life has never been full of bliss,
Since war in our ruins is inevitably rife.
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Time To Go: A Poetry Collection
PoetryAway we go, to a place we've never been to before. I am flying, and these poems are the feathers on my wings. And it's time to go on adventures. Highest Ranking: 104 in Poetry (Thank you Wattpad!)
