Born to a Wicked World
Born to a wicked world,
where shadows stretch long,
where kindness is currency
spent and gone.
Life is a fight,
a struggle to stand,
clawing for breath
with blood on our hands.
The wolves wear smiles,
the saints wear chains,
truth is buried
beneath gold-stained names.
Survival is war,
no mercy, no peace,
born to the battle,
we die for release.
Fists on the pavement,
rage in the air,
hope is a whisper
that fades in despair.
The strong grow colder,
the weak disappear,
love is a weapon
they teach us to fear.
Steel in our voices,
fire in our veins,
we rise from the wreckage
still shackled in chains.
Born to a wicked world,
torn, yet alive
no gods to save us,
only the will to survive.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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The Duelist
The rays of a dying red sun flashed against the onrushing blade. The grey beards say the key to dueling lies in size, speed, reach, righteous fury, whatever the person in front of them pays them to say. Matteo knew better than any it was none of these and had an undefeated record on these sands to prove it.
By Matthew J. Fromma day ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Fact ! I totally agree 👍 we are born into a wicked world.
Sad but true for one just has to try and be prepared for anything in this wicked world we live. One just has to have faith.