Why would the question even pass my lips?

What source would ever flow so freely?

How does the feeling grow?

Having festered so long and low.

What is it that lays on the ground

Looking around

Playing with sound

What is it coaxed from my chest

The truth hurts so much more that I'm cruel

Burn the blistering nerves on my skin

Every emotion once hidden within

And now out writhing, screaming in angst

Miserable feeling I must lose again

I want the wide path, wind cool and sweet

With the smell of wild onion and wisteria

I want the simple peace

Fallen pecans and dogwood trees

I want this

It's true

It makes me simple

But it's still true

I have no gate to close

Just my heart

Weapons of War ►


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