Spare me those tears
And grant me your ears
The day is no more young
The sun is threading home
Take off your dark lenses
And behold the beauty
The beauty of your dirt

You call it a game
Or a simple ride to fame
You pride in your gains
And flush your excess in drains
You act humble and fair
Yet you break and never repair
Unveil your guilt and admire

You call it a simple race
Or a move to maintain a space
You do anything to save your face
And never replace what you misplace
You have cleared any trace
Always hiding behind a nice embrace
Sure you know its time to deface

A nobel thief
A pious burglar
A faithful cheat
A generous robber
A peaceful war monger
A fair trickster
A nice dirt

This poem is about: 
Our world



Quite a mirror experience

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741