caroline victoria stokesberry
Comments about caroline victoria stokesberry
The Burning Light
On that morning, dreary in suspence of
opening my eyes, propped up by only
the shakings of a roaming thought, trepid
was my soul reconciling the inaction with
what agenda, to purge the ache of drama
to scurry back into conscience, to disregard
the moth eaten flesh, and back up your plan
to flurry in the aftermath.
When the moment happened, eyes merged into
the creamy walls of starvation, choking the
trepidation into minute whinces of freedom,
the shock of yellow light above and over my head,
urging glazed pupils to realise, and flee back into ...