Hailstorm.

A Poem.

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

Hailstorm.

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 —

When they do,

they come true…

and they’re awful ending in a coffin.

AELIZABETHMIND

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©️️2018 — 2024 AElizabethMind ®™️

©️️ 2023 letasheslay ®™️
Poetry

  • This poem is also part of a piece from a song I’ve written.

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A.ELIZABETHMIND

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.