THE DEATH OF SENTIMENT
BY FIONA CUMMINGS
A room to my own
My quiet zone
Time to reflect
Wondering why there’s no respect
Blades and bullets
Crime with mallets
So much hatred
Liquids red
Greed is fed
Self importance
Prepared to take a chance
No matter of the consequence
What has gone wrong with the world
Obsessed with gold
Icy hearts
Closed arms
As though we are programmed, like robots
They say a leopard can’t change its spots
So is it too late
A permanently closed gate?
As I sit here wondering
Thinking of what I can do
Just pondering
Trying to have a wider view
Where can we go
How can we show?
Love and respect to those who don’t want to know
I think everyone should have a quiet room
To work out what they need in life
Is it really the killing we want from a knife?
Is it detachment
Have we seen the death of sentiment?
Copyright Fiona Cummings 2015
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