"Oh! Plenty wars, to seek, with eager men to die,
As many weaken hearts, to spread by peace, a lie,
With filled minds of wrath and empty mouths of blood,
With wicked whispers near, as far as weapons flood
The same old wrecked world where tyrants rule and thrive
The everlasting crowd – and o, alas! At last!! Who feels alive?!
The dim over the candle, which spread the lofty dreams
Among those shadows – lost – in such a sprout of beams,
The ripple softly falling, of golden cup’s beheading,
When fiercy swords are drawn, for jewels fall when shedding?..
Or maybe broken bones, for masters, and cruel laws for tyrants,
As well as lots of aces rise to crush such heap of ants,
- If not – why not?! – more stones, to build the shrines for giants
Which never seems to end the poison among plants?!..
Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! There’s no one, left alive,
To tell the story further for ears that strive to listen
Such nonsense of a mirror from which the whispers glisten
Around the edges, death – this blade who guards the hive;
There’s nothing else to raise, for heads that lies beneath
A truth that’s long forgotten, replaced by some gods
Which often show at wars, to spill more blood – such odds! –
Where wrath had sunk already, like ivy changes heath;
Without a fear of dying, there’s one, among the ravens
That lurks around these realms, to mourn, to weep, to yell:
From death, to life, the bard’s awoken spirit, - look!!
Where silence seems to cure, had nothing else to tell!.."(extract from "The Quotes Garden" 2017-2019)
©Th3Mirr0r 
the_mirror Poetry (137)