“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.