Black clouds fly above me
Howling like angry wolves as they flee
Hazy summer wind cries mockingly,
And I answer: Let it be.

No solace nature brings
Amid the insults their hatred flings
I fall, the pain of the cuts still stings
And reminds...
All I have left is these broken wings.

Mock my poetry and there will be more-
Calihye Lionheart

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Ios, in the year 215 MA.