It's frightening
How easily
Cruelty comes to me.
Like a Spartan Hoplite's
Raised shield reflex,
I settle in my place.
In my phalanx of frustration
At my own inadequacies.
The spearhead of sharpened words
Chosen to find the loose stitching,
In the links of another's chainmail,
Mounted on a solid shaft of anger.
But I am learning slowly,
To whittle down that shaft
Until it is a cocktail stick.
A match.
So I can Ignite the phosphorous,
Drop it on the flames of hate,
Choking away its oxygen.
YOU ARE READING
Scribblings
PoetryWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
