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Description
My son is now the age I was when I wrote this poem and I see the same darkness that I felt way back when...but honestly I'm much better now...hopefully so will he be! Anyway, its funny how I can remember this after all the years. And if nothing else, its short. I resisted the urge to make the voice deeper and more effective since its mine.
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Lyrics
I know a place where shadows bloom
Flowers die and rot
Babies leave their hollow wombs
Existence is their lot
Their faces blank, unwritten pages
Free of social ink
are marred by pens of so-called sages
who tell them what to think
With best intent we steal their souls
Their hollow bodies grieve
They live in chains without parole
Til death grants its reprieve
Flowers die and rot
Babies leave their hollow wombs
Existence is their lot
Their faces blank, unwritten pages
Free of social ink
are marred by pens of so-called sages
who tell them what to think
With best intent we steal their souls
Their hollow bodies grieve
They live in chains without parole
Til death grants its reprieve
Yes. Nice ambient introspection. You have a pleasant speaking voice. An affirmation of necessary youthful darkness. I experienced similar shades of gray.