bitterness
the irk of tumoil
tosses me:
a hell bound angel
or a demon bound for heaven.
unsure
at times
of which is which,
a breath away from saving grace-
lost in the scuttling winds of time,
hoping beyond hope for something more than this.
👁 5💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.