The bark of life is both rough and feral.
Artfully woven primitive creatures of peril.
The arc of light is awkwardly light beneath the
weight of darkness. Curving our sight with indigo
sharpness until the obsidian night is bright-blue
and starless. Dreams are not harmless and
thoughts can be heartless. Hate educates
conquest while love still remains
thoughtless.
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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