My free will is a gift. I curse myself.I long to know you!I fall short, probably far.How can I control my desires?
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The Abyss
Amongst the foreign voices I think of home, and you, my English rose. My hands grasp for the top of the mountain, my feet guided by the stepping stones. The opressors whip, the bootlicker bullies flock to mock. My sons! my sons will know they’re from hard godly stock. Distracted by the beauty that surrounds,Continue reading “The Abyss”
Exile
It’s just there, yet so far will it listen once? How many times can you pray upon a star? Will they exile me to an unknown land? With just the company of a busker hand in hand. In a search for love, in a search for treasure exile me from all of this pressure.
Smith Shine Poetry 