A Statue Of Answers Poem by Sharron Stephenson

The mist of the eyes are the pain in the,
Heart.
The wine we drink is the blood of the,
Cuts and pull.
The sertretch of the minds soul is the call,
Of the door slams.

The fingers tips are on the handle to walk away,
The catch of the look the statue frezzes.

The sun on the water below send a,
Puddle of truth.
The night of the moon pictures a war never,
To be won or lost.

Ahand comes around to ease the,
Feelings of death and never ending,
Answers.