Three long years of preparation. Where is the dark? The devastation? Where is the pain to make demons cry? Where is the hate to make vengeance shy?
By The Eight Ball Kid6 years ago in Poets
Alone a tree stands on a hill, not knowing of great nature’s will. It stands up straight with joy and pride, not knowing what waits when spring time hides.
Shocked, tired, and drenched in sweat, I wake up fearing regret. Knowing what I have to do, will help me start my life anew.