Like Sand I Blew Apart.
Stuck I am in Hate's quicksand:
Sandy is my heart.
Kicked, you, dirt right in my face;
Like sand I blew apart.
Many tears did wet my chest
And now I'm kin to mud.
Stuck; I am of Hate's quicksand,
But still I've some good blood.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: healing,optimism,pain