in mazing grace

on island alone

in vast perilous sea

I wave torn white flag

at stale wind,

with small tired arms

in scared search of scarce lee

at the vastness of space

where Ive sinned,

once so terribly strong

with knees bent at each run

and a sightseeing glass

that stood clear,

now – lay meek and untold

at the sight of cocked gun

in broad constant tight hell

of dark fear.






About lifeofawillow
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