Blindfold Race
Was it just me wounded and unable to fly?
The rough of the wind blows, pushes me anywhere along.
The sky is dark as I weep
all the pain on my fence.
My ground slips under,
and sinks in tears.
The hope absconds engulfed in fear.
I have never felt relief, even the night comes unasked and gathered only what I abhor.
Confined behind grills, a suffocating surface of the table inside the cell with my mementos on it.
Time is deaf to please you for the blurred vision you've taken.
The faith in your heart vacillates, and comes misery in toe.
But, He's Good.
"My Child, be steadfast in this blindfold race" a voice from above, whispers to my ears.
Somehow, I felt his presence.
So, I remained firm.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Casket Of Hatred And Oppression
PoetryThese short poems ideas flow from my emotional self. They arrive the same way as dreams do. So always I begin with a head empty of words and let my feelings go flow. Read at your own Discretion
