profile image

Michael Angel

Updated: 10 days ago

Contact via WOL logo


Struggling to direct my compass, I stand by' myself, Lonely, Awaiting an arrival That won't come. Branches reaching to me now, Nature folds around me. It gets closer to unshrouding my mind, Than her. Closure is such a piece I have not found. I feel a barren desolate wasteland. You see what's inside? Fog, his behind the richness of a poor man's eyes. But it in we see a hallowed ghost, Where distant eyes reflect' beauty. Such a penance for mear thought, now we are, Naked.


Title: Blood could be so cruel. Shed a tear cause she'd be missing you. Blood inhibits the noose of time. Chosen family; how sinful? Such a cry of crime. End.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Do you want to be featured here? Submit your profile.


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message