Consequences Of Conquest

by

Anne Strausser

The price of love's an expensive price.
It lingers still with many voices,
that embodies the frequent deadly vice.
Playing games of torture, malice,
it festers like a germ that kills all of your cells.
Sensoring only the weakest minds.
The ones that prove worthy of the deadliest kind.
Relying on the raptures of heart to lead to the final kill.
Because without accepting the grief it sickens the brain.
Where there's no real fill, limiting a preserving will.
Cancer of the heart, cancer of the mind,
destruction of mankind what's to remain.
Why does everyone care more of financial gain.
instead of the evils of the insane.
It's a mad, mad, world with costly choices.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Are You Really 70 Terry ?
by: Maria Goretti Clague
from: Manchester, England, UK

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