It's splintering
&
pushing rusted nails aside,
digging out buried box to claim again mine.
Under salivating moon beams,
nothing evangelistic comes forth dirt & breathes to spill holy redeem;
yet -
if this certainly unfolds true demise to be,
I'd no tremendous complaints screamed,
except for villains you've left untouched after me.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Antidote & a Dreary Phase
PoetryMy second Edition of a variety of Poetry feelings. For all the support and encouragements you all share with me - I do humbly appreciate all that you say and do. The feeling I get when another writer comments, or votes is imperial to how I interr...
