Set in his face,
There was a silent rage in his eyes.
And in that rage there was a sorrow I could not devise.
Rage, rage, that I could not devise.
With each breath he drew,
There was a silent rage in his voice.
And in that rage there were words he would not speak.
Rage, rage, he would not speak.
With each lie he spoke,
There was a silent hope that he may change his mind.
And in that hope there was reasoning I could not devise,
Hope, hope, I could not devise.
With each embrace he gave,
There was a silent hope that this would be true.
And in that truth there was hope set in demise,
Rage, rage, that I rest in demise.
Where have all the good men gone?
Comments
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Love the style and the way this poem flowed, and the way you repeated, gave it extra power, Beautiful piece you have written here:]
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