Brenda

I loath the grit that bandage my limbs,
they aim to invade my core
the heavens remain harsh
yet I still gaze to the shore
blistered and vacant,
yours truly ponders score
the scene narrows frail
once issuing piles more,
my muse lingers unsung 
thus unmatched pages tore
ironic how my glee is seized
midst of palms unfolding sore