Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

My scream burns my lungs and cut my lips,
I am sinking like a leaking ship,
My eyes hath seen too much misery, 
These fingers hath bleed on triggers, 
My heart is rusty with red, red, red history,
This child hath grown and withered. 

With these hands I hold my life, 
It is a pathetic and meek being, 
Through the stormy, dangerous strife, 
I have always come out seething. 
Haunted by the ghosts that whisper, 
I cannot sleep upon this night, 
And when God appears in vesper, 
These troubled wings take silent flight. 

Psalms, psalms, psalms, spill off my tongue, 
I am ready and the end has come, 
To shed this weight so cumbersome,
But end has come and I'm not ready, 
I've found refuge in my calamity.