by the deep valleys of life hide at the thought of after
for what is this world if not a disaster?
treacherous thought of a place not so new
the sharp blades of my sword and the whisper of two
–
blades of armour on each one of our own
enlist in the theory of people unknown
freedom, a long-lost hope
agony and despair
if only for one to find the fantasy to cope
–
with a mountain of guilt, we continue on
blinded by the promise of growth
all-knowing?
not without a limitation of freedom
down to the waves
in the garden of Eden
–
and the one scaly creature
the chance of deeply rooted pain
or the feathery outcast
the shame is to blame
a bittersweet coronation
–
of life and of death
peeling back the depths
as one coincides
another opposes
the sharp edges of snow
make a new thought perfectly
alone.
by Jaime White