Healed
A bit of a pain in the arse
Already at the brink
The time clock is at rush hour
But the heart still beats
I look up at the sky
Seeking for the signal of solutions
The haze blur the hills
The fog blurs my vision
Broken bones
Toiled muscles
Wamble stomach
Saddle sore
Oh I was broken
But i hold the time card
And i go far down the road to recovery
I tunnel through the forest of demise
And the incision was healed.
©Ibratosyn'18
This poem is about:
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: