A Poem by Kerry Orchard
Looking into the eyes of darkness,
beyond the shroud of emptiness,
to the gathering mass of vagueness,
where walk the dismal in disarray,
those bereft of promise.
Whispers once words vanish,
carry hope further into the gloom,
spinning shadows that gather dust,
across a brackish scape where sanity titers.
Long cold the hand that held,
its grip on loves pull,
the lever drawn, the die,
for those bereft of promise.