The Perfect Storm
Our prisons are built from our desire
And each stone of its walls from our own hand
As prisoners, we become a liar
From our choices, we will not understand
The rooms and spaces seem unimportant
They're only filled with intoxication
Where nothing to us is as important
Then a door to our lover's temptation
Where wants and needs find hope without question
To fill a hunger it will never fill
The mind struggles with its own confession
When passion becomes a cold empty swill
When lies and our deceit become the norm
A fantasy invites the perfect storm
9/29/17 contest A Perfect Storm
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2017
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