The World where poetry is dead

I stand alone, starring in the dark.
Loneliness comes. She whispers me a sad song
Which the angels did not sing.

Suffering hearts! How they scream for love!
But war and pain is what they get from above
In this world, where Poetry is dead,
Buried in the hearths which no longer dream.

I close my eyes, losing myself,
Hoping for a miracle to happen
But even miracles are forbidden in this reality!
I hear my hearth beat, as if it was the last thing
I would hear in this world of pain
And everything is impossible to overcome…
I fall apart with a dead hearth whispering for salvation
Hoping I would have been a star, twinkling in a constellation
Far… Far away from this nightmare.

If only there was a bit of Poetry left…
It would be so easy to dry all tears
To make stars from bleeding scars
And smiles from the deepest fears…