The cold chair clamped the careers and their clients
On the mountain, with its men
Electric executions humored their eyes
Inmates of their own jokes
Frighten, and fall
From the old oak tree
Spilling blood
From its presided power
After its last dinner, on its deathbed, in dismay, and afraid to dance
The sick situation, stout and strong
And with humor, in a hurry, it hit home
Through time and truth
Remembering the realization, while rising, it ran
With its ankles
And legs,
Knowledge was no longer kind
As it took its last walk
YOU ARE READING
A World for the Guilty
PoetryA series of poems that I have written and that I am yet to write about my experiences, the people and things that I Iove and hate, and my emotions.
