Roaring silence fills my head
pain taken by love
And all I can do is lay on my bed
everything was just shoved
"She'll die" most of my people said
the world was cruel to me
So they took away my med
then i was able to see,
I came to realize I was already dead
This poem is the epitome of why humanity creates poetry in the first place. This is a primitive a poem as one can muster. Of course, on that note, being a avid student of Joseph Campbell (The Hero's Journey) , you can never really have lived of you weren't willing to die first. It's the ultimate strength (I hate this religion personally) , see; Jesus; MLK's last speech; Gandhi's fasts; Gitmo hostages. It's too much for all the zombies around you to absorb, so all they can do is control, what they fear, that strange fruit you bare. Plus, by this poem, pills would only wound your poems. Peace out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is the epitome of why humanity created poetry in the first place. This is a primitive a poem as one can muster. Like the last line in MLK's last speech, of the last hours, on the last night of his life.