Blank stares and faces,
Demons
In desolate places.
No one seeks
To be oppressed,
Simply suffers
And accepts.
Yes, I digress—
To speak of desert monks
Temptations
And apparitions,
Ghostly voices
On the wind,
Rain with its sadness
and whims,
Damp nights
Clammy with touchiness,
Beautiful women
Made of nothingness.
Then, torn
Between dreams
And confusion,
Merely human,
Spill
Black ink of despair...
My soul
Too flawed to repair.
There is a Repairer of Souls upon whom we can surely rely... :D
Merry Christmas, John! <3
😄😇😉
Amen! Thanks, Creatr - Merry Christmas to you and yours :)
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