Dedicated to follower
PETRICHOR
cool mist clings to her skin
as wet mud clings to worn rubber boots.
with every breath she's renewed,
inhaling the rain-strewn air,
replacing each word one-by-one;
they did nothing but hinder.
parting clouds unveil hope
as heavy petrichor clouds her lung,
washing her free of regret:
a prince loved her; she was queen;
she had no time for silly boys
who did nothing but murder.
YOU ARE READING
The Next Epoch
Poetrylookee another year of poetry Text copyright © 2017 by _symphonic_
