My soul longs for the silence,
and it strives with resilience
to attain a virtuous patience
that could be its final license.
The dark is slowly conquering
and the bells of doom are ringing.
The shadow of agony is abiding
and my soul is fainting.
I hoped for a savior,
but I live like a survivor
staggering in shame before my tormentor
like one drunk with liquor.
Eternity awaits my arrival
life and death, rivals
I wish to make a retrieval
of my lost hope of survival.
YOU ARE READING
The Perfect Scar
PoetryGreat experiences leave a lasting taste of wisdom, and a taste of greatness leaves a scar of power. All in all, a witness of truth sets free the soul. What better way is there to lay bare the PERFECT SCAR than words of a lifetime? • • • Every single...
