worse than I'll know
to hope was heaven's game
difficult mixing powerful certainty
anesthetics paradise slowing the arrows
weave wonderland of power
while martyrs resign to sadness
alone driven frankly dare to be lost
this heavy dizzy carefully breeds resurrection
YOU ARE READING
Salad Days
PoetrySad poems from sad and angry times. Written from a juvenile time (14 years old) to older. That's what you get when you leave a teen to ponder reality. A pen hits reality harder than high school survival. Original Art from Vivianne Rheaume
