There are words that
bear pointed barbs
Like sharpened swords at
the ready
Silent in one moment
Then at the ready to fight
And no matter how much
preparation or armor worn
They pierce through
Each syllable stinging
The burn of once
passion filled words turned
Of specifically formed
words of malice
The pain of truth
seen...
A storm breaks...
Rivers of tears run
through
Sweeping up once prized
possessions
A whirlwind of motion
As the realization hits
Everyday it strikes
like lightening
Through the slit within
the clouds of memories
Thoughts are set on
fire
And some burn through
the night
Darkness pulls itself
in
Attempting to calm the
nerves
Until the golden beams
of the morning break
A quiet moment is
won...
As breathless as the
sun
And as long as the
roaming day
There is a noiseless
onset
Its a victory seen as
compete
Because its the keenest
of marksman
With the most
accomplished shot
Times perfect target
Is those things
forgot...
©
2019
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