Soft Soles
I'd grin upon the morn,
but fear the pain of night's left me worn.
Incongruent question,
no room left for hope's inquisition.
Roads be barely trodden,
aches reveal a bright soul so sodden.
Such soft soles of the feet,
she's never traveled far from pain street.
YOU ARE READING
The Dragon Became a Modern Poetaster
PoetryPoetry is a dance of words, a guise of flesh, and a reprise of thought. The myths of old are forgotten on modern tongues. Such adventurous spirits seek new vessels - fresh words to don and call their own. We shall write them home, you and I. Let the...
