The Monster Poem by Vienna Cree
The Monster
We can not see through our eyes,
but only through our fingertips.
A slave,
far gone to know.
Dust and pixels of hope.
They cover their eyes that they bare not to see,
they cover their eyes ahamed of what he's becoming.
They nod there heads,
bite their lips...
Is that the just of it?
To coil and to cross,
To love and to rott.
Nothing more...
than the epttiamy of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 7:01:57 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
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