A Crooked World
With-the wholeness of my
Eyes-I try,
But this horizon is shortened
and my sight is gone.
Through a skewed world,
I question the air,
and still breathe it's toxicity.
Accepting it's warped days of
fog weighing down.
We are sending
an anchor to hell.
Watching our skies
turn to fire,
and the devil come
to be
But with changing moments, new life, new chances
for a leveling of us.
Nevertheless-poor little hopes,
stand on there feet and fall
from a slanted world.
Learning to walk
a hunched and hazy path.
I ask now with a humid heart.
Will this tiring fog ever lift?
-Waiting on whispers
Will this falling ever ground?
- Wactching unwearyingly
All the while, take short breaths
and weary steps,
Foresaken, the heavy fog
Weighs our world in deaths.
Copyright © Joe Curtis | Year Posted 2006
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