For years he let himself be buried in a cavernous hole
A black obliteration filled with endless sorrow
The only light he saw was the taunting fire
As it imitated life, frolicking at his fingertips
He sifted back and forth grasping and searching only to be left with only glimmers of hope
But why would he take that 50/50 chance?
As he knew he could only escape his eternity of turmoil as a crumbled piece of rock or a golden gem molded by dirt
YOU ARE READING
thoughts at 4 am
Poetrythose random thoughts that keep you up at night as you toss and turn, putting up your fight
