Rock, Hard-Place
I would rather be left alone,
For no Love hath sprout, nor hither grown
From a crumbled Heart, once hard as stone
What shall I reap from these seeds I've sown?
From these hounds I cannot escape,
And I've not been hopeful, not as of late
The Truth will come, but I must wait
For the Will of God or Force of Fate
*This piece is very trite and encompasses most of my usual cliche's. Not really sure why I am posting it; I suppose I hope someone can relate. If you've read my other pieces, this one is really no different. I fear I am getting monotonous.
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