Thorned and blessed sound the same on my tongue
To me, both are a balm to the shattered keratin of my toes
Both are as certain of something as my fray-scattered nerves can be.
It translates to “Stairwell”
or “Cage”
In equal measure.
But it makes no difference.
I think my brothers in the Gunpowder hills
Forget that despair is the same word
In every language.
There is nothing for us,
Beyond the eastern chill.
We are each of us a nation,
A fortress, and
Alone.
There is no more sublime a nightmare.
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Author:
Bigguy (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 31st, 2025 22:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
It is the combination of thought and words that get the fave in this poem. A very nicely constructed poem with meaning
Thank you! I really appreciate it!
You are most welcome
A very nicely crafted write, enjoyed the read
Thank you very much!
You are very welcome
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