Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2010
Worship inscribed on the soft of my wrist,
yet my heart feels pulled to the dismal abyss.
A faith, to be sure, and for love, I have tried.
But to Him I have sinned, and to Him, I've yet died.
I hold on to my longings, belongings, and nothing at all.
And further away, it seems that I fall.
Written by
MyThousandWords
564
   Beth Dyck
Please log in to view and add comments on poems