A Strangely Thwarting Mischief

looking back, I watch as
idle hours spent for naught,
Guilt Rise
like the tide
I sit forsaken
By my own heart.

not a slow and gnawing sore,
Needles in my skin
growing numb
the hole remains.

There is no time to purge the poison
as cruel time, without a pause,
rolls onward and when I push
against its eversteady pace,
I stumble against its motion.

I crack upon the pavement,
Blood, pooling,
a harsh release,
A hand Outstretched,
I grasp, I Rise,
A little less of a man, but readier to walk again.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem