PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Wandering through the Hills of Terror
Where The King Self reigns.
Valleys, hills, mountains, caves
No markers or breadcrumb trails.
The snow covers the trails
Hiding where I’ve been
Camouflaging the way out.

Unsure of where I’ve been
Unclear of where I’m going
Grasping in the darkness
As the snow solidifies to ice around my being
Until only a chisel with carve me out
A hand reaches into the darkness
No chisel, just the warmth of Hope
Pulling, stroking, glowing, exuding, slowly melting the ice
King Self holds on
Fighting the warmth, clinging to ice
But the Hope is backed by Love and Care
And the force is much too much
Shattering the ice
Shards piercing the skin
Painful, relieving, shocking, scary
Clinging to the hand leading to the sun.