Grace

Allow me,
my hope for tomorrow.
Spare me,
sadness and sorrow.
Let me move,
forward with no hesitation.
Nay I weary,
may your love be my consolation.
For I know,
I must stand, if to run.
For I must,
find where illusion and reality are one.

by Belle Poe

Other poems of BELLE POE (4)

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