A Poem For the Tributes
Jul 15, 2011 22:24:28 GMT -5
Post by signaltonoise on Jul 15, 2011 22:24:28 GMT -5
Silence falls amid great happenings.
Only a moment to live.
Breathe your last- make it count
Or don't even comment at all.
They turn blind eyes to tragedy.
Their calloused hearts don't care.
As long as the innocent maintain their march
Into Death's own Halls of Hell.
Suffering goes, but it stays with the dead.
What happened to paying your debts?
You may only reap what you sow,
But their reaping from other fields.
Silent tears come with silent voices
As deathrow beckons with open arms.
The masks they use to hide despair
Get better through the years.
Dress up dolls, gladiator warriors-
This is back to Rome's age
When innocent were killed without a thought
And torn to shreds without a care.
More lives to come- enough to spare
And so they keep marching through.
Sooner or later, Hell's Halls will be filled.
And Death will throw up arms in despair.
It's a sixty second countdown-
A time to say goodbyes.
Wishes to die fast and gloriously
Accompany hope of victory.
Stay strong. Stay proud.
You're being watched, you know.
But the only viewer to worry about
Would have to be your condemned self.
The Halls fill like the moon waxes,
Then it makes more room.
To them, life is just a Game.
But to Death it's the greater treasure.
So fill up your ranks of victors.
Tell yourself, "One survived."
But just remember those twenty three
That can never leave those Halls.
Sorry if it was bad or long or too sad. It's just how I've been feeling right now about the Games. They are still fun, and not real, but I thought his captured how I felt.
This poem has been dedicated to the tributes who died to make our Games happen, the ones dying today and the ones who have yet to give their best. Best wishes for the role-players!
Sincerely,
SignaltoNoise
Only a moment to live.
Breathe your last- make it count
Or don't even comment at all.
They turn blind eyes to tragedy.
Their calloused hearts don't care.
As long as the innocent maintain their march
Into Death's own Halls of Hell.
Suffering goes, but it stays with the dead.
What happened to paying your debts?
You may only reap what you sow,
But their reaping from other fields.
Silent tears come with silent voices
As deathrow beckons with open arms.
The masks they use to hide despair
Get better through the years.
Dress up dolls, gladiator warriors-
This is back to Rome's age
When innocent were killed without a thought
And torn to shreds without a care.
More lives to come- enough to spare
And so they keep marching through.
Sooner or later, Hell's Halls will be filled.
And Death will throw up arms in despair.
It's a sixty second countdown-
A time to say goodbyes.
Wishes to die fast and gloriously
Accompany hope of victory.
Stay strong. Stay proud.
You're being watched, you know.
But the only viewer to worry about
Would have to be your condemned self.
The Halls fill like the moon waxes,
Then it makes more room.
To them, life is just a Game.
But to Death it's the greater treasure.
So fill up your ranks of victors.
Tell yourself, "One survived."
But just remember those twenty three
That can never leave those Halls.
Sorry if it was bad or long or too sad. It's just how I've been feeling right now about the Games. They are still fun, and not real, but I thought his captured how I felt.
This poem has been dedicated to the tributes who died to make our Games happen, the ones dying today and the ones who have yet to give their best. Best wishes for the role-players!
Sincerely,
SignaltoNoise
