Gone
The screams are heard between the soft spoken whispers.
Their eyes are those of the unwanted.
They consume vile with a smile and try to loath in harmony.
They muster nothing more than the pain of existing.
Their hollow presence represents the illusionist’s dream.
LDSforlife commented on Gone
08-27-2009
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Torn | 2 | 08/25/2009 |
| Re-Birth | 1 | 07/09/2009 |
| Non-Existence | 1 | 06/19/2009 |
| Confinement | 1 | 06/19/2009 |
| Gone | 1 | 06/19/2009 |
| Apology | 1 | 06/02/2009 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.