A Poem.

A demon like, or skeleton winged statue. A statue of a winged demon.
Photo by Donovan Reeves on Unsplash


She never wished war.

She had heard it all before.

Guns blaze: she ducks, and she curls in a ball.

This is exactly what she warns, as she falls.

She falls.

Night calls.

Dreams don’t come often —




My ideas on the complexities of our human mind’s with an appreciation for the “darker” realities— Whilst insisting, Hope, remains, unwavering, in all of us!.