Fiction
History Hurts
The history
we wish for,
Is never the
one to approach
(in novels).
Her pages
mislead us;
Build up our
hopes,
And have us
praying for happier notes.
Then we
reach the middle,
Our hearts
full,
Our brains
busy,
And we hope
to untangle the riddle,
Of history.
Its mystery
beguiles us,
The
ignorant.
But by the
end,
We are
hopeless and lost.
We have the
facts,
And we have
shed the tears.
We can no
longer go back,
And forget
our greatest fears.
No comments:
Post a Comment