The knight within me
had fallen long before
I even noticed.
All you can see here
is a boy
frozen in one place,
trembling but not in fear,
clenched fists,
teeth-gritting,
and eyes
crying for vengeance.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
