The chill shock of the spring rain
Soaks me to the skin.
To the bones of me;
The place where the I begins.
Rooted in this barren ground
Petrified by the memories,
And the past I have buried within.
For I prayed to hold my mysteries
And take them to my grave.
For what does man have but his sins.
His secret companions in the dark
With the fatal poison of their sting.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.