It
- August 12, 2015
- trigram8910
- No Comments
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He swirls the rising smoke
From his burning lies
Never letting It fly far enough
To the blinking skies
It drops down defeated
Hiding It's cheeks from his blow
Standing up, It's legs wobble unsteadily
Like a newly born doe
All It wants is to be free
From It's home of chackles
To finally reach the stars
But It only finds his cackles
His hand swirls and swirls
Until he's sure there's nothing
He takes another drag
Like the wolf; huffing and puffing