Everyone wears a polished face, but hides a starving heart,
Love is traded like a coin, then torn apart.
Hands reach out for what they want, not what they can hold,
Feelings are reduced to sparks that flicker, thin and cold.
Egos build their private thrones where tenderness should stay,
And “I” becomes the loudest word in every room these days.
We learn to scroll past soul and ache, to swipe away the real,
To call it freedom when we’re numb, to call it strength what’s steal.
But true love is a rare fire—quiet, patient, brave, and true,
Hard to find in a world that loves what’s useful more than you.
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Author:
Sphinx (
Offline) - Published: July 21st, 2026 15:54
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: mvvenkataraman
Offline)
Comments3
A good write about values that should be changed. Well written
Thank you
Most welcome
YOU ARE A REAL GENIUS !
Thank you
Please write more and more and a great name you can score !
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