Imprisonment Of My Soul

For some reason, writing is the tissue to my tears and lately I’ve been trying to stay stable, so going back to old writings seemed like a good idea. Till I ran into this one and for some reason this poem seemed to rip apart wounds into larger ripples which then left scars that marked pain, anger and a load of other feelings. Honestly if emotions were an object, my sadness would be like rain.

Imprisonment of my soul

The breeze waves peace to me as she says
Just yesterday there was peace and now there is a cracked past with no rain
Two years of old love for a new world stays the same
As new generations lose tongs and grasp hard with red knuckles in their faith

Imprisonment of my own she said
In a place where love is said by mouth but the heart is filled with pain
A place where cause is done swift with a quick death and no wait
Shots fired, pop pills and spills genius brains
Imprisonment of her own she said
Messes a mother would nag over but rather cries at her daughters grave
She said two shots is all it takes
She cried out with lungs filled with hate
A confined space between her hands stays empty
As she spoke, broke and closed her eyes
A mind pure like her’s and a heart stained like mine
wouldn’t be able to fix the scars so well defined
Within the bowels of her soul
Imprisonment of my own she said
Words grip hard on her vocal cords
Bruises sing high notes on her skin and more
Yet even the coarse red sand doesn’t stand a chance
To change what has been done
to eradicate the sad melodies that have overcome
And yet you say that there is still time to change
Even to this day, time itself has been stained
With the blood of my brothers, mothers,sisters,fathers and children
Imprisonment of our own she said
That of my own,
I am the wind that blows north
I was, the past guided dreams of an artist sins
I will only be the euphonious reminiscence of this long forgotten poem and
If the world was perfect
there wouldn’t be no war
all would be well
no pain
no shadows of tears holding the sore and sorrow faces
no loved ones lost by reasons of useless needs
no hero would be killed for their actions
but perfect is just a word
these days men make widows
while wives weep
Imprisonment of my own
She said

Imprisonment of souls,
Define the very being of our morals
and here we stand
casting only a pitiful glance their way
So that what we see, in our minds
don’t existe, little do we know how much
it cause pain to resist
and exist, as wars of your own world occur
Little does your words make a change
Regain, and restrain from pain
as bombs become shelters and leave some astrayed
far from their home
strangers to a land so vast

Imprisonment of their souls she said


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