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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AuthorWell, 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. Archives
August 2019
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