Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Hope by A.S. Washington


My dear friend, a second mother of sorts,
Will you whisper in my ear forever?
Upon this great craving shall we hold court?
For I do not like the cold of the weather.
Fear - no friend of mine, but here he remains,
Holding to my heart, hoping not to leave,
Audacity of youth, I wish to regain,
Yet, to this quiet bosom, surely do I cling.
I see the planes, the lights - my wide grin,
Awakening to misery, too many things awry,
I see the comfort, the fun - basking in sin,
Awakening to duty, to their whims comply.
Continue with your secrets, encouragements in kind,
That I may see my true self, in this theatre of mine

Related Posts:

A Prowling Lion
The Cancer of Men
When They Put Me Back In The Mud

Until next write...

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