Worry Poem by Christoph Praus
Worry
The squamous things that lurk,
Slick little darknesses that hide,
Deep within that hollow core,
That needling hurt,
That foolish pride,
Do greater terrors lie in store?
And that hollow core a sphere,
Blackness born in gold,
So precious once ago,
Now hosts only fear,
And one I cannot hold,
My will I do not know;
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: mind
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4/27/2024 9:38:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
