Survival Poem by Cyclopseven R
Survival
Ever the thorns pricks with pain
if my mind do not become insane?
hellish gores mark the subtle heart
in countless numbers wound made
survivalist nature, a human destiny
which has to be done, has to be done
I stand facing reality
its face an endurance makeup
down deep a lost world found
struggle ensue despite tears
one day, a liberator will surely made
as I strengthen my will, I shall become one.
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4/24/2024 11:49:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
