Words that roll onto paper like blasts of wind onto the unfriendly frost-bound limitless ocean
trivial alone, but collectively creating tsunamis, obliterating everything in its path for nothing
never a purpose in mind, simply infinite emptiness stretching as far as it could
propelling terror into the hearts of others
some may call it poetic
for what are writers if not poets under guise?
nevillearts © 2021
YOU ARE READING
TRAGEDY LANE
Poetrymaybe i too am red for all the slaughter carried within me, bastard child of water, lake swelled with rotting fish. What are you searching for when you drag me from you? POETRY © nevillearts. 2022 cover . . . archaicpoets
