Today; the snow flies in blue grey skies.
Like ancient rust crumbled to bitter dust;
A tragic lust held in poisioned trust;
As Eve's tainted apple, a tantalizing taste.
Bound, held in love's lost land of waste.
Knowledge; a rancorious hope, will never be.
The price of which is life's vindictive fee.
Will there only be spite? Or a vicious fight?
If only an entreating hand, in day's waining light.
when snow flies in storm filled skies.
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Comments1
yeah, this is awesome
a privilege to read, thank you!
'Knowledge; a rancorious hope, will never be.
The price of which is life's vindictive fee.'
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