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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poetry and stuff

Submitted: June 18, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 18, 2013



A bloom of pestilence and human filth

Traces roots to footholds in the depths of our minds

A sinner or a saint, with how his story’s told,

Clutches shadows we refuse to behold


Nails caked, color defiled with years of sweat

Spent locked, steeped in this pit, our fledgling nest

Shallow walls, the bounds of the feeble infinite

Mind weary from the complexity of what little we accept

From Axiom, that imposing visitor


And as he opens the door, our maiden voyage to the world

From the glow, we know we’ll hide or run.


We’ll raise up our hands to block out the sun.

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