Beneath the Pine’s

 Beneath the Pines.
  There beneath the majestic pine’s, lay a pile of twisted disheveled and bewildered feelings. Left there for the the hopeless, outcast’s to kick around, as if to tell them of these things are that of which we are steeling.
  Never mind that of which we care, for of these things shall be of our own demise. Softly spoken novels, stories of unforgiven compromise released to our surprise.
  Hold your breath, I can not breathe , the truths not told of those bereaved. As those courts held high do spin their web, to push the lies that they conceive.
  And upon the face’s of smiling eyes, there is not not a grimace on their lips, for covered tongue’s whisper their lies. Of ignorant stories of an unfaithful past and the reasons why a cure won’t fly.
  Upon the ground we spread the ash, of faceless names of a million souls, denied a life of which was stole. To the winds that howl the trees I can hear their voice not cast at the poles.
  There beneath the majestic pine’s on a lonely moss covered bench, sit’s a forlorn beaten lonely soul,praying. For the day when we can all get along, and this is where we will be staying.

By GWRoggenbuck