The Upper Hand
wading through a mystical fog,
the night grows dimmer.
the crickets louder.
it's crawling on me
"NO...WHY ME?", i scream.
this place seemed so peaceful
until i broke the silence.
the creature of the darkness
made me do it.
now it controls me
but i have somehow found comfort.
This poem was written by soulspin on Jan 01, 1992.
No comments yet.
