May 26
The icy dogs of hell below,
Pound their paws in pursuit.
Their beating tune twinning mine.
But there are singing larks of haven above,
They coax me closer.
Whistling hymns and ballads,
Little angels stealing my heart.
'Sanctuary!' you call,
You thump on the holy doors.
But torment calls to me,
Calls to me to run, and heave, and live.
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Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
