Wednesday, 15 April 2015

Crumbling Pages

There isn't any creativity in writing
It ends with the crumbling of the page
I can talk stories all day
But who has time for tales these days
The morning sun isn't any different here
The skin still reddens with pain
But how we have classified pain
Pain yours and pain of theirs
Pain of the elderly and pain of vain
Humbly cuddle yourself to sleep
There is none to share your bed
If only someone could look so deep
Make believe the lies instead
But no my friend none will come
It's your battle and your gun
They who whimper die too in time
Who are you to skip the line
As days go by the blankness stares
Wishing someone had letters to spare
The pages too are now straightened out
Awaiting someone to crumble them down