Few Can Say

Bob Whiteside,

Held the jaws of
Chaos in the crater
Of my hands,

And thought, what of it?

Would I be seized
Rolling over into its entropy
Till I was terrible plain?

Or would I wait out
Its lack of face,

Recompense by shoe
The travails
That few can say

And all have known?

2 thoughts on “Few Can Say”

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