Rating: 5.0
I traveled the world,
so wide, so cruel.
Everyone seems
to have a different issue.

No one listens, everyone runs.
Why am I here? Why do I do this?

I try to help, but who helps me?
I'm all by myself, my poor soul screams.

I still try to fly
somewhere up in the sky.

But a bird with broken wings
hardly ever flies,
and the more it bleeds.

It is hard, too hard,
to live in such a world,
where nothing else matters
but to be and stay cruel.
Monday, April 30, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: loneliness,pain,cruelty,blood
Emily Angelova 04 May 2018
So honest and true! Love it!
0 0 Reply
Jazib Kamalvi 30 April 2018
A refined poetic imagination, Brigitte. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.
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