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cecil-millerPoems
When I look into the abyss, Is it just as confused as I? What does the dark depth ponder, When it gazes into me? Am I impossible? Can it not even Fathom all my pieces, Or how they fit? How cool the wind will blow - But is the western sand Still hot when the storm claws at my face To scratch out my eyes? Am I a seat to be despised, Deposed like a future convict Railing at the charges held over my head? Why is it judging me For not playing along with the game I had no part in creating? I conject no scheme of ill intent. Peace, I bid Thee well. I go my way.
0
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
Abyss
When I look into the abyss, Is it just as confused as I? What does the dark depth ponder, When it gazes into me? Am I impossible? Can it not even Fathom all my pieces, Or how they fit? How cool the wind will blow - But is the western sand Still hot when the storm claws at my face To scratch out my eyes? Am I a seat to be despised, Deposed like a future convict Railing at the charges held over my head? Why is it judging me For not playing along with the game I had no part in creating? I conject no scheme of ill intent. Peace, I bid Thee well. I go my way.
I think I will not include too many notes for this one. It is about feeling the object of scrutiny.
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cecil-miller
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cecil-miller
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
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