I took quill to parchment with all the grace

 of a schizophrenic

Seeking to drain my soul onto the barren

 wastelands of the sheets

Praying that those same wastelands would

 prove undaunted by the irascible tempest

 fountaining from said soul…..

The frightening rage – hoping, 

nay praying, 

that the capillaries on the pages have thick 

enough walls to withstand the onslaught of 

these would-be prisoners

In the end only this gives comfort, doubtless it

has for many who have travelled these lands – 

that on the horizon, approaches hope.


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