Come easy all my lively banters
As I keep weaving through the maze;
Once have been lost to mending crossings,
Once have been close to where it ends,
But restless devils tamed my stance
And pushed through to another torment;
Since then a while I've been dormant,
A while unsought for my domain
Have bred in pain collecting wisdom
Beyond naivety of men.
A child of their population
They'd call me then;
to their frustration - I won't grow into their kind:
A creature of a different mind,
Of different unresearched carnation;
Once they would see abomination,
Another time they'd vision saint,
The only mystery for me now -
Which I ain't?
Come easy all my lively banters
As I keep bleeding through the phase
Of recognizing nor accepting
What's my race.
Nor My Race
© Copyright: Виллард Корд, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119011903273
Свидетельство о публикации №119011903273
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