The Profit Of Purity Poem by William Settle
The Profit Of Purity
You fall asleep
To dreams of greed
It's inconceivable
Your evil mind of malice
Twisted and contorted
In the cellar of your palace
But me, I see the sun shine over
These fields in which I lay my soul bare
The blades of grass that hold my integrity
And the wind the carries away the rest of me
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: introspection
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5/15/2024 1:35:38 AM # 1.0.0.1119
