Stepping stone

you could hear the sound of bitter ignorance breach these walls of mine

the horrid revelished cutlure hidden I between our minds

remains silent over the sweet dreams we precived our predecessors to see.
so much the anger still is provoked and dominate in thee
so much I never received a remedeer,
so prolongs the the futile thought we feared
never once, nither did i,  think
so much
that a madness could grow by the varsity of its age and yet even grow strong day and by day...





and with hidden pain dwells within a smile with wounds.....
power is grows in any form it my choose