To cut so deep that it runs free;
Trickling down in lumps of dense rock,
hues of ebonized expectation.
Biting down upon the eye of sense,
deliberately wavering,
sharp snaps swinging in flashes of greed,
clouds of mud caked, carelessly thrown,
curling strands of thorns left to grow.
Words hot with the consuming flame of belief,
bruising the tough leather exterior,
saying more than should have been said.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment