A storm weathered with little overhead.
Raindrops fell like glass shards.
Rending my flesh to ribbons of red.
I challenge fate to a game of cards.
Trumping her flushed hand
In victory I stand
On my own two feet,
Basking in unfamiliar heat
Of a newborn sun,
I feel the day’s not done
As horizons stretch before my eyes,
Unclouded by false hope and spiteful lies.
The path laid out seems long, uncertain,
But following it to the end; my new devotion.
YOU ARE READING
The Boney King Of Nowhere
Poetry"There's always a siren, singing you to shipwreck." A collection of my poetry. Hope you enjoy.
