PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I wince at the very thought of it.
The thought you fit the pawn,
in three ways at least;
two of which I can list.

I wince at the tormented soil.
The plow, strapped to the steed,
with dislocated shoulders,
grazed and grassy knees

I wince at the reflection:
the berries from the Bella-donna.
The sanity of the villain’s
the same as counting light.