Hidden Inside

Night has become blind, light too hard to find,
what binding force has become of here.
In the shadows and mist,
the things that twitch and twist
wreath beneath the darkness of this ancient soul.

Which, has become much like an ocean
Its waves bash and crash into the dark rocks of despair
Inside of what this one has to hide from a crazed world,
both cold and uncaring.
His strength is failing. As his pride stops him, from showing
the pain that lies below.

by Maddie 'Rae' Berry

Comments (7)

Lucy Maud Montgomery writes with a magic pen- everything about this poem is sheer perfection, the easy rhymes and the easy rhythm and the easy flow from verse to verse.
This is a very Beautiful poem.
Upon the water! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
How tenderly the tendrils of infatuation bind the reasoning of our mind, blinding us to all beauty, no matter how exquisite compared to the object of our desire. The author with the fine craftsmanship of an Amish woodworker demonstrates the {almost} lost art of precision rhyme to paint ethereal images of nature, yet finds such beauty a pallor in contrast to this poem's object of love. Another stunning tribute to the fleeting vanity of humankind.
Excellently penned. The rhyming is exqusite and the imagery is superb.
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