The Wounding

I recall my wounds.

So you too remember yours.

A violation of memory and perception.

Invidious you guard your misery against a ghost of hopelessness.

Tortured and twisted in this blackened resting place,

I would have words of truth feed our spirits.

But my words become a temple that make you immortal,

Weeping dry tears of tomorrow's sadness.

Reviews

[ProCoacoa]

I absolutely love the second last line, "But my words become a temple that make you immortal".

Amazing!

[R. L. Hill]

Love it, Raymond. Another one for the books.

[MichaelsLyric.com]

Love the first two lines, especially, but the entire piece kind of talks about what it's like as an artist. And of course, every human is an artist. In the second line, did you mean to say, "to"? Nice composition, I liked it. Thank you for sharing.