The blues rattling around inside of my brain
are the root causes for the slippery slopes of pain
my heart tries to traverse during the deluges of rain.
The woodgrain of the terrain is painted with the slain
names of slaves who saved waves of brave reigns while
whipping the chains of brainwaves into washing away the grave stains.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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