Is there any hope left in this world?
Or any good left to see.
I try to believe in the beauty I know is there.
But living in the grey my sight is hazy.
What has happened to the love?
Who killed the truth?
Despair grips my heart and soul.
Almost choking them to death.
The world I see seems toxic to me.
Caustic has life become.
As Man rusts and corrodes.
I grow weary with it all.
And I begin to see.
The problem with the world is me.
SCOTT DAVID BUCKLEY-(30/12/2012)
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I'd love to know what you think of this poem.