Shears of might, she wielded the blade,
Unveiling wounds in the light's cascade,
A fragile bloom, once vibrant and free,
Now withers, the pain plain to see.
Her touch, a tempest that tore apart,
Leaving scars etched on a fragile heart,
Strength disguised in a delicate touch,
Unmasked the wounds that hurt so much.
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Charles L.
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Kusliga Vista
“I told you we were going too far off trail,” said Clark. “I thought Ammon said he could read a compass,” said Kit. “Guys, it’s easy, we just need to find a river or stream and follow it. Those things always lead to civilization,” Ammon said and pushed through thick patch of bushes.
By Amos Glade2 days ago in Horror
Comments (1)
There's some sense of empowerment in this poem that I got.