Poezja

The still autumn night
no longer sings sweet music.
 
No soft piano or
raindrops on my worn
 
rooftop,
no calm or solace.
 
No violent winds
creeping
 
through my window sill,
no hope, no promise.
 
We are the lost warriors
of our time.
 
We are broken
we are beautiful.
 
Suffocating.
Exhaustion slowly setting in.
 
We fight harder
and harder
 
Only to get nowhere.
 
We hold something sacred
in our hands.
 
Breathing in the Emptiness,
our world,
so dark, so heavy.
 
We fight,
we stumble,
we fall together.
 
Our essence splattered
in the darkness.
 
We are drained of sorrow
unable to mourn at all.
 
We hope for
Quiet, just
quiet.
 
~