Control.
If you don't have it, you want it.
If you have it, you want more.
It's an insatiable thirst.
A growing weed that spoils the whole garden.
It's hard to pull; the roots run deep,
Growing through cracks in a heart
That can never be healed.
A heart that has not opened itself
To the sunshine of God's love.
Seeds of wickedness therein shall lie,
Until, at last, the heart withers and dies.
And the iron fist of control
Squeezes out rationality in a murky flow.
Things are said that are never meant.
Actions are done that lead to regret.
But still, the proud fist won't let go.
It squeezes harder and harder.
Until, at last,
There is no room for love to grow.
Now, it is all about control.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poems
PoetryHello! This book is filled with my poems! I used to have them mixed with my short stories, but for organizations sake, I decided to split them into their own books. Enjoy! This is updated spontaneously, so don't expect regular posts.
