Category: Beth Wood’s Work

You ask me my history I hand you my book of scars. This skin grows so tight Not all prisons bear bars Childhood held weapons, drugs, and pain No cookies, no toys, straight shot to the vain Reprieve would call around, send the devision to the door Bruises shown often, judge, then a new home … Continue reading Mine – Poem by Beth Wood

The rain patterns on the roof of the desolate hall As I peer out the window  dead of night  naked trees  tis the mist the fall The moon lights the sky like a candle in the night and the rain, oh the rain seems to play a tune hitting each note just right the wind … Continue reading Amid the Fall – Poem by Beth Wood