Beyond these rusted bars stained with tears
lies a delicate tomorrow, coated with
cracked white paint turned yellow
through endless yesterdays
Promises spill over from countless goodbyes,
melting into the land of betrayal
where we once made a vow to break free
of the prison we were born into
Your words slip into the space
between these shackles and my skin,
as they gently heal abrasions of
desperations from growing frustration
We're standing ankle deep
in a pool of our own body fluids,
the only proof of how long we've been here
Drenched in blood, sweat and tears;
searching for something
to quench the insatiable thirst within
"When will tomorrow come?"
"It will come. I promise."















Comments
--
I have known life to be unforgiving at times. But there are people there, angels in there own ways, that are there to make it better. There to make us better. They let us hope.
~Me
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