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Tread light,
grind hard into cotton white;
was only few counted ways till pulled benight,
you lil ole trite -
Ssshh... I can't understand mine foresight!
All that whimpering womp womp fight.
Disembodied voices lurk shadows tonight,
a disturbance is present just beyond peripheral sight;
I'll trip you sprite
& one shall cascade across floors fabric tides,
before mine rolls on all fours in downward hind side.
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...
