Poem: Fourth Sundry

She finds herself a servant,
To her own crippled will,
As it blooms brokenly,
She trips and falls through the foliage,
Tied at the ankle by webbing,
She is Adeline.

His head is splitting inside,
As his brain twists and turns,
The ultimate protest of the life he chose,
Even his heart fell apart,
Allowing him to bleed out,
He is Byron.

Together they are twisted snakes of denial,
Promising what they feel is a lie,
In the open light of truth,
They writhe helplessly,
All the world could not heal broken bodies,
They are Sundry.


About lowkiespeaks

I am a poetess, a mother-to-be, a pround woman, and stubborn beyound reason. View all posts by lowkiespeaks

2 responses to “Poem: Fourth Sundry

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