By Shawn Marc B. Carreon
There lays my soul, bounded to stay,
Never to let go, with nothing more to say,
Hope is keeping them bound until the day,
Where I can stay till tomorrow and today.
Conflict may arise with words so sly…
Dormant and cold it clasps your eyes,
The windows to your soul, will you trust thee?
Doubt will cloud your mind, blinding what could be.
Questions arise upon a lake of dread,
Containing the shallow point of the dead,
My words lay rest to the promises kept,
I try to fish the words that I’ve said.**
