Untold
by Cynthia Jones
When ink is not enough to ease our worried mind
our soul bleeds until the paper is red.
So colored with the anger drenched inside
with feelings of freaking dread.
Disillusioned and conned for all that it's worth,
and not received a dime.
It is fine, the words are there for proof,
and confirm the malice in time.
The words are blurred, emotion is brave,
and all is uncovered for view.
It is the reason that does give way, to
expose the forbidden truth.
Copyright 2006
Labels: poetry
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