In the dark valley throughout my soul
You can listen to the sounds of the hound.
As he tramples over the garden of nested flowers
Which had laid there, their pedals of color- for hours
Justice running a path in circles no doubt
Following bat shaped clouds
Smelling the chances of a disagreeable seed.
His claws throwing dirt
The seed taking form
At last, it blossoms through a storm
Joining, adding to the valley
The hound lays in the grass - happy.
Tired.
And wonders.
-AC
YOU ARE READING
What Goes On: A Collection of Poems
General FictionA collection of fictional poems that may be dark. What goes on in your mind? In your heart? Are you trying to put it into words? Take a sneak peak and see what you find.
