Eyes that burn through my own, she’s looking deep into the questions I ask myself.
Her stare stings, like conflicting people trying to notice themselves.
She smiles, testing her beautiful features against the light.
My admiration for her ponders amongst its own, but golden locks continue to linger in my line of sight.
She shifts her slim figure, and so do I, as we dance to a silent inquiry.
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Let’s all take a moment to rejoice in the gracious misery of our history’s future.
Let us yield to peer onward toward greater pain.
Ignore the lessons our forefathers wrote down in dusty letters,
Secrets written into stitches in their sweaters.
I will remind them to forget the bloodshed.
I will warn them against victory and treat the wounded.
Just to send them out again to die.
YOU ARE READING
Down This Path
PoetryThis selection of poems were written during a series of events that would then unfold into a turning point within my own life. Tragic circumstances muddled by poor judgement and a taste for adventure turned into what I thought was a glorious success...
