Why stand an immortal
Shining stone
In the sucking mire
There is no footing there
But slippery hope
And closing shells
As if entrenched
Than leave
An angry defile
Left for red
It's such
A freshet made
Of fruits of spleen
And refugee bushels
Of bitter myrrh
Garnered
For ribbons
Of carrion
Crowed
Yea though you
Walk to
The valley
Of life
No good
Will evilly
Follow
To make
It real
Is not
A war
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment