Hidden

seven pieces of grain swooping throughout my tips;

a piece of mind for each, as stories wipe a grin;
I see a post to each, a hook
and within, another demon to commit a pin;
a nail into suffering ain't none, while seven pieces fall undone.

missing...

falling seven pieces apart, another pin arise
bind in hate, suffering smiles to seek reign
in constant fear I start to run.

Screaming...

I end up near a pit
with darkness on the way, I pray
what you seek to say, will make your way
what you think to say, will make you stay

so seven pieces of grain past
too another seven to start again
with hope to spare seven more.


I thought I'd write something in such a way that it locks so much inside, I don't know if I could call it similar to a riddle, but surly try...