Buried Alive

The
dark clouds,
fugitives
of violent storms,
cast angry shadows
of fear on crestfallen
shoulders. I am paralyzed.
Anger displaces all reason
and contempt breeds raw hostility.
Only with God is there a breath of hope.

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1 Response to Buried Alive

  1. Catherine Hicks says:

    I thought from the title that you might have written a poem about the month of December!
    As it is, I hope that the storm has passed and that hope wins.

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