I PritheeA Poem by AK
To those tormented, God,
Pray, Shackle their troubles. Delusional souls- spare May they see themselves for Who they really are. Let not those frail figures shrivel Food to those systems denied Yet shows the mirror in the mind's eye Fatness, ugliness-- Lies. Prevent those slashes, mutilating Thy perfect creation! Why must red meet skin, Glistening like the piercing pain within Inerasable scars embossed in skin. How dost thou lie peaceful, smiling? These souls could fathom even not What thou posseseth- peace? The upward curve of a mouth? But memories trodden over By ruthless, looming figures. Dissolve those miseries 'nto oblivion May they perceive the world golden once more. Aren't thou capable of that? Or is thy puissance overrated? To those tormented, God, Pray, Shackle their troubles. Delusional souls- spare May they see themselves for Who they really are. © 2014 AKAuthor's Note
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