On trains, in darkness—
Faces in books
Stare at me;
Still I won't be a martyr.
Today I realized
Life was passing me by;
But still I won't be a martyr.
O life, my life,
Why am I disturbed
By this grief?
Martyr
On trains, in darkness—
Faces in books
Stare at me;
Still I won't be a martyr.
Today I realized
Life was passing me by;
But still I won't be a martyr.
O life, my life,
Why am I disturbed
By this grief?
Why the pain? Because maybe if you are a martyr! Because maybe if we die for our ideas and ideals, @johnjgeddes... Because in the face of silence, we prefer the word. Because in the face of injustice, in the face of the suffering of others, we open our hearts. It is the poet who suffers in living flesh the persecution for carrying a flag that belongs to everyone: the word. Here are the poets to defend themselves, their weapon is the heart. Nice night.
As always, a poetic and beautiful response, Nancy. Yes, we carry the flag of the word and pay the price for waving it.
Nice
Following upvote resteem done
thank you!
So deep.!! beautiful!
thank you for your response
Great work dear . Lovely poetry.
Thanks for sharing.
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This makes me wonder,"am i alrd being a martyr?" At some point,maybe...
I think we all question ourselves