The Fight

I can taste the missary and pain. A bitter-sweet concoction Of the utterly insane. A recipe I know all too well. Like a serpent, it slithers Around my brain to dwell, In memories better left lost. To corrupt my soul once more And defeat me at all cost.

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Poet Tacito

Date: 7/9/2013 5:13:00 PM

The war of self is always the roughest. You laid these lines out with such an eloquent pain.

Poet Tacito
Date: 7/12/2013 12:22:00 AM

I'm glad I was able to grasp this meaning. :)

Toshia Hall
Date: 7/11/2013 9:22:00 PM

Thank you. Most who read this poem seem not to understand it. I believe that there is no greater war than that in which we rage within ourselves.

John Aaron Green

Date: 1/9/2012 4:14:00 PM

wow,,girl you can sure write em,,,this is such a great poem,,,i enjoy your emotion filled pen...........