Misery's Hammer

the appearance, an impression to please living buried underneath, tucked inside to reside in need wanting stains the hands of hope, to bend a knee and pray understanding madness, as a cold still reach the peaks of destiny’s belief shadow’s our semblance, long before we could see a tedious churning thickness disturbed, requires cover for the comfort of restraint breathing in the deep, to calm this keep losing ground to stay clear, the voice of fear a volatile sound, now rounded and fit for chain freedom is the Idea realized and never ever seen the scourge, calls to be wound down for spite winding it and winding it once again the tighter the twist, until we cannot fix the risk and the urge to tighten again until the weight of knowing, is sure to weaken a turning of events borders the peaceful calm surface the appearance, an impression to please the pretty place perfect for a keepsake preciously smothered to appear tame, kept in a frame refusing to entertain or warn with her Screams misery holds tight her hammer and swings Terry D’Arcy-Ryan