tomorrow night, I will appear on top of the hill,
the one littered with tombstones,
and bellow.
I will bellow until the moon sinks in to the blackness
I will bellow until I begin to hack up blood
I will feel the earth shake beneath my heels
the dirt and pebbles will gather between my toes
the trees will shake and branches will breAk
men, once of power, will cry out and fall to their knees
I will stand, head held facing the stars
fists clenched and raised heavensward,
v i c t o r i o u s .
but for now,
I will sit,
silent as a mouse,
o b e d i e n
YOU ARE READING
jumbled thoughts.
Poetrysometimes you need to bleed out words to feel okay. sometimes those bled words take the shape of a poem.
