Dost thou not hear the wails I cry?
Is man as blind as this?
He hears and sees, yet sullenness hast men paint-eth untouch-ed.
‘Tis for his ignorance hath I so pale and grim with misery.
We know sadness and anger,
Pain and fear alike,
But have we been in the presence of death itself?
Not physical death, no;
Not when man’s hand spills innocent blood,
And thy body halts thereafter.
But beyond sadness, anger, pain and fear, when thy heart still beats and thy lungs still breathe
And thy body still, though for no purpose, lingers on this god-forsaken earth,
Yet thy vulnerable soul is to dwell and decay and dissolve in hell.
There is no point crying anymore, I simply must carry on with life without a soul.
Headaches and leg twitches prove that mine eyes already emptied of tears
Thus the rest of thy body cries for them.
I want not to undo man’s actions, I crave guilt and understanding.
And still no one gives a care should they hurt me like this.
This is the unseen state of mind, my face I silently hide.
No one sees these tears of mine, here, on the other side.