In Perfect paradise pristine,
Where pain is known, not.
Sufferance, sorrow, stagnant.
Only among Arcades.
Yet I, your assailant, hail
Upon horseback-
pelt of dusty pale,
I follow, to paradise pristine.
And in Arcadia, here I am.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
