Genre: Angry
Mournful thoughts I ask you why,
The day,
The night,
The morning sky.
Sorrowful sigh continue on,
Our world,
Our life,
Our morning sun.
Words spoken, silent,
Abrupt,
Spitting sound,
Anger raised,
Hurt,
Profound.
But why?
Why? The question
It’s what I ask,
Such rage builds,
Boiled,
Vehement,
Mask.
A passion,
A pride,
Of embarrassed truth,
Twisted mind,
The hardened proof.
Emotion bled,
Scourged its soul,
Tortured hatred,
Plagued turmoil.
These the things,
Off narrowed path,
Your guidance,
Keeps,
In silent wrath.
And yes,
I do,
I make mistakes,
Without your guide,
Forgiveness breaks.
Even time,
It Heals,
It’s hurtful,
Sigh,
Of mournful thoughts,
When asking,
Why?
By David Mayall.
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