I grow blind, to the wondrous scenes
That race all around
In the flare of sunlight

When there is nothing more
Than a few row of words
That grovel and plead
For the morsels of life

When there is nothing more
Than the solitude of home
In a clockwise demise
And the trembling of peril

Yet beauty unfolds
As I am locked away
And awaiting the hour
Of my fateful escape

 

I know I should be ashamed of myself for doing this. But if you enjoyed this poem, you can even more like it in my latest book of poetry, The Slums of Nightfall. It’s available on Amazon and on the Creative Talents Unleashed websiteWilliam Wright

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