On These Wings
Sheeted winds of hushed desire
Dragged behind these wings of fire.
Momentous doom plans melt below
The ofttimes weary hands now show.
This room all splashed in ink's delight
Grows faded now in rhymes' hindsight.
One drip of passed time's waning urge
Now calls for floating hope; Submerge.
Copyright © Glenda Smith | Year Posted 2019
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