Insult
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A kiss on the forehead
Is a gesture of betrayal
It's not a kiss of love
Filled with joy and humor.
When the heart is unaware
Of the hurting whimpers of despair
The nasty wails don't come out loud
But manage to get suppressed in a shroud
What gives?
What takes?
What mends?
What breaks?
What heals?
What hurts?
What strips?
What girts?
What never dies?
What lives on?
What tells lies?
What are our songs?
A young man with many dreams,
But lacking the courage to pursue.
It's all so hopeless, it seems.
Whatever should he do?
The world laughs and mocks him,
Calls him revolting names.
