Gored,
Broken,
Bleeding Hand
Reaches forward,
Beckons from Chaos,
And grasps fragile fingers
Whose twins loosely hold Order
With a stagnant, reluctant grip
That is released to find strange beauty
Of the sort unknown by those who fear death.
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 4:25 PM UTC
Gored,
Broken,
Bleeding Hand
Reaches forward,
Beckons from Chaos,
And grasps fragile fingers
Whose twins loosely hold Order
With a stagnant, reluctant grip
That is released to find strange beauty
Of the sort unknown by those who fear death.
I decided to spice up my "syllable adding" poems by challenging myself to use every word only once.