Great Horton Swan Song

Cherry

By ralph

Fri, 10 Dec 2021
  • 230 reads
1 comments
 
 
From high up upon their
                           sacred hill.
They’ve sat watching me twist
                           mad, thin and ill.
Because I’ve felt horrors that they’ll  
                           never conceive.
Away I must rise now — count to three… 
                           then breathe.

 

 

 

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Poem
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Comments

Submitted by donignacio on

This poem gives me the great feeling of hope.