Falling From Grace
Once I stood.
In light.
Chosen.
Crowned.
But grace slips.
It falls.
It breaks.
I reached too far.
I trusted too much.
Now whispers follow.
Now eyes grow cold.
Falling is storm.
It is silence.
It is ruin.
Yet ruin frees.
I rise without praise.
I stand without mask.
Grace was borrowed.
Truth is mine.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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