There is a terrible and deep sadness with giving in,
It rings from the core out, shakes from deep within.
No longer holding together, the whole world cracks,
Then tension that was so intense, suddenly slacks-
Deafening silence after the ear-bursting boom,
Time to rest my murdered ideals in a tomb.
1 comment:
I like your poem, especially the last line.
"Time to rest my murdered ideals in a tomb"
We have to do that so often in life. Old ideals seem to give much sadness when the world updates it self. We are so dissatisfied with our lives that we come to a stage when we are forced to change our selves. Is that what you want to convey?
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