when I feel the strong need to rest my weary bones,
I am led by the call of creation,
yet I am taken into captivity by the stubborn mental shields...
my frail insides being ripped and torn apart, unsent,
as the myth was once foretold...
I will shed my skin, face night's whispering torment,
looking beyond the layered prizm of trialsome yields...
blinding out gut instinct of grasping at lasting wishes,
we will lend a helping hand,
to our long lost enemies who consciously pass us by,
until we land,
upon the shoreline of healing wounds, stitched within,
and forgetting to let it go out,
we still must capture the sunlight to cool our burnt skin,
mist of flames, inside mind's eye, with flashing tears we cry...
© Copyright 2016 RaisinGirl. All rights reserved.