We walk around heartless. Carrying baskets filled with sin on our shoulders. Pretending to love one another. While in fact we vary. We wear the same clothes. Have our own temples. Building priest’s bust made out of lies, letting it put the harness on our eyes. Blindly believe in ourselves and others. Though some still give onto despair. We take the real life for granted. Perhaps we let go to sinful addictions. Every newborn is grabbing their own poppy While separated worlds are falling. Cancer is eating our celestial being. Wish it a welcome into the soul sanatorium.
This poem a part of Silence: Poetry Anthology
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