“The Sound”

by A_F_R_O_W

 

I wept out

this poetry.

Words,

poured, from me.

Heaving, grief,

no longer, crept around.

Editing the essence

of agony’s sound.

Shoulders,

cramped,

from hunching,

crunching bones.

In need of Omega,

I lunched,

on sorrow.

Pain, surely, came…

But Joy,

from The Alpha,

arrived,

upon the morrow.

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©A_F_R_O_W2020.

All Rights Reserved.