The sturdy metals stand alight,
basking in the shrunken light,
all interiors mundane and alike
disappearing, their golden mike,
one shudders with a sap of difference,
holding a buoyant golden trinket,
balling to be the brightest star,
haggling the gloomiest garb,
maddening the clans of roaches,
burning through the batches of ones,
given to the way of glory,
heading for the pinnacle of story.
I want to thank God for giving me the Grace to write this.
Not as good as I had wanted, all my poems used to make me happy but now they're all so plain.
YOU ARE READING
MY POEM COLLECTION
PoetryPoetry allows you to discover, And gives you the gift to recover, Giving you the wheel and compass, To venture through the bypass
