Tumbles, tundras, tempests abounding;
Hurdles hurled down pugnacious pathways;
Endings, but a figment of what was.
Mere chance, anything but... Hope? Who could?
Assaultive forces beyond the bend,
Zestfully hidden among the cracks—
Each turn more trifling than the last.
YOU ARE READING
Some of My More Random Thoughts
PoetryWith this, I wanted to take a simple idea, some little word or phrase perhaps, and turn that thought into something with beauty and meaning. It doesn't always rhyme but sometimes, it doesn't have to. It's the words themselves that carry the weight.
