Wrapped in your black shroud
blinded by the pain
you do not see
the gentle caring hands
reaching out to help you
In your eyes they are thorny vines
snagging your cloak, tearing at your flesh
but we keep trying to show you the truth
We are there
to lift you from the black prison
to soothe your pain and heal your wounds
your liberators, not your torturers.
How long must we watch you suffer
before you believe we have come to set you free?
YOU ARE READING
Within the Chimera: a poetry collection
PoetryThis is the world where I grow my inner poet: no holds barred as long as I think it's safe for public consumption. All poems will be dated with the original creation date, so if I post things out of order (a highly likely occurrence), all my reader...
