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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1826691
Not to worry... something always happens.
TO EVERY END



Hide.
It's the night.

The world
as a drumming murmur
incessantly advances,
caution to the wind, beyond
stout erected walls
about a trembling mind.

To the fight
so contrite.

As crimson ashes
memories of better days
surrender to the wind
gone in circumstantial flame
engulfing all resolve.

The hero then is he
who Stands inside himself;
she who Rallies to herself;
they who Redirect the dark
countersink the start
flush with every end.
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