You Don't Care | Teen Ink

You Don't Care

November 22, 2015
By BloomingRaine15 PLATINUM, Cebu, Other
BloomingRaine15 PLATINUM, Cebu, Other
27 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
And suddenly, all the love songs were about you.


You don't care!

Amidst the valley of death,

Concealed with hunger, famine, drought, and greed

Corruption, desolation, and love for power breeds.

Roaring thunderous cries from your blood-filth hands,

Yet as you speak in front of them,

Deceived they are on a "hope"  from a liar.

 

You don't care!

Hands tainted, tormented horror, the grounds tremble with undeniable secrets.

Indecipherable secrets you've fought too hard to protect.

To keep you in your seat, a seat not for you to keep.

Lives become sacrifices you audaciously walk amongst,

Yet, you don't carry the weight of losing someone you love, someone you'd die to protect.

 

You don't care!

Faith, love, hope, and humanity,

All turned down when war was ensuing.

War that you've caused, inevitable, irreversible, and cataclysmic.

Winding up with a land infected with agonizing injustice, and irreparable catastrophes.

You are not our God, our Supreme whom we bow upon, 

You are a man pounding with devious greed and lust - 

Lust for power, lust for money, lust for blood, lust to fulfill your vehemence!

 

You don't care!

You want it all! Why would you care? What would you lose?

When thousands are at your feet, ready for your disposal.

They're not just tissues to wipe your dirt.

They're not just tongues you want to cut.

They are certainly not just soldiers only for you.

You deluded them into believing that they are doing it for the country,

For their children, for their wives, for everyone's families!

Yet all of what you said is just a little lie you make, to mask what was hidden in of your heart.

 

You don't care.

It's not a sentence of disbelief.

It's not a sentence of asking.

It's not a sentence of proving.

It's a sentence of what you truly feel...

You don't care.

 

Where, oh where, is that humanity inside?

Did it shrivel up and die, from the words that became lies?

Or is it still there, full of shame and regret, wishing, just wishing, to simply forget?

Is there still hope for you?

Is there still a trial for you?

Or is everything so crystal-clear, that your hands are already tainted with a blood that won't wash away.

 

Wash your hands.

More! Wash your hands more.

Rub it! Get it off! Get it off you!

Oh no, it won't get off!

Tainted with guilt and conscience.

Because you don't care.

Or do you? ...

 

 

Then go, wash it off.

A blood that'll never go away.



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