Thy vision is my disdain.
Not by yonder route's way
Canst I escape the terrain;
The sky is an ominous gray.
Endless pangs of degradation,
This enclosure is harrowing.
I am lacking in supplication
And stricken by a hollowing.
Despair looms in the air.
In misanthropic throes
The jaws of disgust are bare;
I am beset by cursed woes.
Naught is rendered to gain,
And loss becomes my kin.
Thy words become a stain,
To the innocent child within.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: February 16th, 2017 00:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
Well written excellent write
Thank you so much! 🙂
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