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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #1160354
Be careful of the whispers, they may not be nice.
GLOVED HANDS


How dark is the darkness,
when nothing can be seen.
How bright is the brightness,
evil rays cast from its beam.

The mind is held prisoner,
encased in its fear.
The guidance is misguided,
the voice is near.

The touch is not tender.
The words are not sweet.
The sound it makes,
is based in deceit.

Larone Mckinley


(THIS POEM IS IN A PSYCHO FICTION NOVEL I HAVE WRITTEN AND WILL BE PUBLISHED BY FALL 2008.)
© Copyright 2006 Larone Mckinley (larone at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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