Challenge
Challenge of the Month XXXIX
Write a short poem about your own private Hell. The tortured who reigns gets 100 big ones. Winner will be picked by Prose. Go.
Hell, Who Cares
Skin Cells scattered,
dusted as useless pebbles on the highway
eroded as redundant sand by the river
They say you never see the same river twice
Once firm as fresh black top
and tall as mountains
with the strength to look forward,
with promise, with potential
Before the river,
Before the road,
every stone was once a boulder
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