& though my insides still tangle about shouting parasites,
who've made nice... a home of me -
latched in
&
sticktight,
spilled gallons fill horizon as far as one's sight;
tatters of mine lie on grounded heaps,
grasping hope which appears to weep;
with now,
additional fear draws upon brow:
light has certainly been misshapen by doubt,
leading fight arduous not to bow;
Such one scorchering question sits behind grit of teeth -
Has the earth finally gone mad upon feet?
Whatever mother implies to reach,
we've but pull tight before defeat.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Antidote & a Dreary Phase
PoetryMy second Edition of a variety of Poetry feelings. For all the support and encouragements you all share with me - I do humbly appreciate all that you say and do. The feeling I get when another writer comments, or votes is imperial to how I interr...
