Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

I threw a spear,
made of golden light,
at wicked fears
in the darkest night.

Hope begat strength,
the fire I needed.
Sharpen the length,
flung spear, I freed it.

I watched it race,
through empty darkness,
to light a face,
both loveless… heartless.

My aim proved true
as the lance was nearing.
The bright spear flew,
met flesh, and seared it.

I watched fear die,
realizing truth,
the horror cried,
its black blood spewing,

“You are me. I am you.”


©️ Tenpenny, 2019.

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