Pretension
Shards of glass spread on the floor, Creaking sound of Half open windows and door, Is it a cast of spell or Demon rising from hell? Valley of bountiful flowers is actually full of wounds and scars, Soft cries and loud sobs, witnessed by moon and stars. But they never reach to those for whom they meant, They can never be, They've never been sent. We see with our closed eyes, the sunset and rise, The beaming pride, But they hide The news of stolen gems, They compare and condemn, to forget the cold, Hidden inside the layers and folds One small universal truth that has never been told. Chest full of secrets once had been sold, is now somewhere in the marshes, forever lost.