Pity City

Why do the eyes carry only watery clouds?
While this city has borders built from heaven
that has admitted to not have a sad adage.
I know these walls are weak like a tensed air
that’s why these sheets have a map of pain.
Man must feel, fill the pots of hurt
accidents on the road leading to our hearts.
Gong from the clashing of our bones with earth,
our steel body needs the oil that make us insane.
When we are broken, what doesn’t repair?

Why do the clouds bury themselves in the eyes?
Look at your flesh lacking the sins of heaven,
clear to gear your wheels from here to there.
Hell does not come like a man in a woman,
it has lived with us, a curse from our own purse.
it’s a reason pain is a sibling to every mortal.
Man has a gill in this water of hurt,
roundabouts of memories holding tyres of pain.
as the town crier makes loud his gong.
What can’t be repaired, What can’t be broken?

Ruddapoet

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