Lost upon a little wind
My dream has blown away,
Lost another and again
My dream has gone away
I don't remember
Too much sunshine,
There was always rain.
I don't remember
How to win,
But I always played the game.
It's hatred most
That I fear inside,
Another fear, another lie.
The answers, they seem
To create the tears.
A river of salt,
Throughout the years.
Alone without people,
And always a crowd
With everyone praying,
And always too loud.
Creeping away,
I knell by the tree,
With hatred for the one
Who planted the seeds.
Sandra Osborne
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seeds-of-hate/
