PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

The Time for Truths


He begins to stink and rot, whilst lying on the tile.

Eyes wide, face veiled in snot and bile.

His crooked broken smile

Beckoning; fall victim to his guile.

 

The product of you and I,

A wicked manifestation of the first shared sigh.

Tenderly we grew him, yet now his end is nigh.

This thing we made... I think I'll name him Lie.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.