The blues rattling around inside of my brain
are the root causes for the slippery slopes of pain
my heart tries to traverse during the deluges of rain.
The woodgrain of the terrain is painted with the slain
names of slaves who saved waves of brave reigns while
whipping the chains of brainwaves into washing away the grave stains.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
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One Unchecked Box
"Republished" because it was the only way to add the embed for the newly recorded audio version of this story due to the Top Story badge. Plus it serves as a nice, informal announcement of the podcast's revival for another season (go subscribe!):
By Stephen A. Roddewig6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
Awesome poem, love the flow of it.
Good poem
Stunting!👏👏
This is amazing. It reads like a song. Well done.