Quivers
My hands are quivering
But not in anexiety, nor rage,
But in a broken dream;
A midnight's wanderings.
Ripped apart by dawn's early light
Trampled by my incompetence
And ruined by you , my foe;
A high dive of a kingdom.
That could never survive;
A mountain too high
To even contemplate climbing
And an isle of flightless birds
Awaiting a sail to to be saved
This poem is about:
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: