Blood of a man spills' from a wound created,
From a wounded heart runs' blood unseen.
Broken will be our spirits' by those we trust,
These are the words' of men with no morality.
Promises are made with the slip of a tongue,
Easily spoken from minds' without thought.
Hearts' and souls', those with no dreams',
They take what they can, from their hands'
Promises, promises, words' with no character,
From those with no heart, broken, always broken.
And we are still all, too foolish, to believe in all their lies, because it’s the only thing we have, to hold onto…
Thanks for reading.
On Tue, May 25, 2021 at 10:44 PM keithgarrettpoetry wrote: