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I May Never Be A Writer

Forgive

7/18/2018

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We lumber through valleys
Surrounded by mountains
Of bitterness and hate.
Dark shadows incarcerate us
Creating an incommunicable violence within.

What brought us here?
Accusation? Criticism? Unfaithfulness?
Does it matter?
It’s a wretched, joyless path we tread
And the yoke of virulence is heavy.
​

The mind fights for freedom
Punching the air
Till it’s black and blue
Throwing anger shadows
Against the wall,
Forcing a crack in the shell
Of unforgiveness.

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    Well, as the title says, I may never be a writer, but who knows what my brain holds. I'll just let it seep out onto this page now and then. It's a bit of a scary thought.

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  • Art Of Ordinary
  • Zinanigans- Photos by Zinny
  • Just Some Random Stuff
  • Praisefully Yours
  • I May Never Be A Writer
  • Photo Gallery
  • About