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.