The Path...
By: Fallenlight262
The path I take is that a joke?
All I see is people to porvoke.
I sleep, I eat, I try to live a life,
but there is something in my way, this horrible knife.
The knife I hold, it's closing in,
for all this will soon begin.
I stand there stunned to find with glee,
a mere buzzing sound, more like a bee.
The bee it flys, with gentle grace,
looking for something, like a certain base.
There it shall hide, away from it's fears,
but all that's left, is I in tears.
The tears the fall, run down my cheek,
is the emotion of sadness, which is very uniqe.
It runs down far, with the other emotions,
if these combine, they might lead to explosions.
The explosions, of the creation of war,
there are people dying, but what for?
They fight, and the fight, but to see no ending,
you only see that forces are bending.
The bending of forces, is that necessary?
For christ sakes! I think there's enough to carry.
These forces are falling, more like a shower,
but all they seek is mere power.
The power of wisdom is hard to hold,
with the choices that come to fold.
You see this wisdom, throughout your day,
others see it as shades of gray.
The gray of the sky, the way in front,
if you walk in front of it is a horrible stunt.
You might not see it, you may I can't deny,
but all you may do, is probably cry.
The cry of victory, could this be true?
No, no it isn't, for now I feel blue.
I may be low, down in the dumps,
it now gets cold, and I have goose bumps.
These bumps, it's freezing like ice,
it feels like I'm dying, which means no dice.
I look down, and it's like a flood,
my wrist begins to rise, of pure blood.
The blood, it's darking then my heart,
how did this happen? I don't even know where to start.
I turn to see what led me to this wrath,
it was the knife, it made me go this path.
The path, I have finally chose,
Did I choose right? I now hold a rose.
I try to hold it high, under the suns shine,
the rose changed to black, could this be a sign?
The sign of failure has fallen upon,
I only wonder on who has really won.
The champion, the victor, it is not me,
the only living thing left is that poor little bee.
The bee, it flys, away from it all,
I only hope that it will not even fall.
Bu when that time comes, it will surely die,
I won't even get to say the chance good-bye.
The good-bye, too late for me to say,
my friends, my family, they look so gray.
The cry, they weep, for I am gone,
they all walk away, for I was only a pawn.
The pawn, which was part of their game,
I wonder if they only felt the same.
I lay there upon the ground, gone from everything I had,
but I wonder, am I really glad?
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