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drink the hemlock
in my be-ginning
the words would not
come for me
you offered me
thirty pennies for my
thoughts then
it hit me
now that the meaning
seems clear
shall i open my eyes to speak
or drink the hemlock
of my perfect
poem
This hits like a riddle and
This hits like a riddle and a dare, Let's see the (Socratic pehaps) hemlock as both silence and perfection,
the price of words weighed against their cost. A poem that stares you down and refuses to flinch.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Thanks!