My bones are the strife of man
Coerced to weigh my weakest form
That I may desirably bend
When grazed, demanded to conform.
I sell the words of my tongue
Offering comfort to a prayer,
No promise held behind this smile,
For wared hearts thoroughly strung
Only your witness I bear
Guarding your soul all the while.
The resilient spirit will persist
What other option is it allowed?
To the apportioned,
There is none,
but only one,
That threads me thin and well.
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Realms
PoetryA collection of poetry of all the good and bad things. © All rights reserved.
