THE WANDERING SPIRIT

Tangled under an abyss of darkness;

My heart yearns for the watering of a desolate soul.

My soul cries out and screeches with the witches’ mandrakes

And I reject my spirit being.

The fears of yesterday are an avalanche in my soul

disturbing the sanity and sanctity in me.

It leaves me strapped in a gothic cave of imbalance.

Find me the balance if this cursed world,

And with every fibre in me, I will bow in hasty gratitude.

I am on the run for freedom

For everything in me must burn slowly

In the light at the end of the tunnel.

FixAfrica