Three more years and a silent plea,
A wrathful fury consumes me.
A testament to nerves of steel.
There is power in words, and yet mine fall short and never reach your ears.
I cannot quell the typhoon raging in me.
I cannot dampen the blows this storm thrusts upon my aching limbs.
I am screaming but silent.
Thrashing, but still.
Drenched in sweat from a tournament of one, and the sea is calm.
The Sandman, a passerby, left a gift, a sweet mercy.
YOU ARE READING
Dumping Grounds
PoetrySometimes when you are dumping your mind, poetry arises. In this anthology, travel with me to dreamy places or the dark corners of my mind, perhaps invoking the writer in you. I hope these pieces speak to you in some way as they have to me. Dumping...
