THE TENDRILS IN MY MIND
It was sunny this morning,
Before the gloom laden clouds of despair
Overwhelmed the clear sky,
Mocking the anticiption of hope.
Once vibrant beams of light
Now morph, turning to tendrils,
Twisting and turning, tormenting my mind,
Disturbing the peace, though percieved,
Extinguishing the guiding candle,
That had burned, a beacon of asylum.
© Dawn Whitehand 2012