Carrying a pillar of
pain, I stand before the sun. The
dementia fails to spoil me.
What is the pathology
of flesh between the souls? Can we
count the steps of spiritual scream?
Picture was horror-struck.
The muse looks beyond the veil
that was covering the inferno.
I love the way your words
I love the way your words gather to the lines that form the poem.
Starward