A triple of drink to wet the lips, tongue, and throat
Trembling at length to the stoat’s note.
With liquid gems here the dawn of sunrise appears
Plant its fiery star with each drop ignites.
The torch that carries the rain,
Into the tense standoff pain.
One spark is enough to trigger
All the touchy fuse of fire.
March on the brow by ranks of flame,
Anger enters the parched restrain.
Emblems, tending the weary sapped day,
Fence in by a wire barbed way.
Tapers of grim and grind
Every day finds a prime battle in the mind.
-
Author:
Gerry Legister (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 31st, 2019 19:48
- Comment from author about the poem: There is a thousand you caught up in the mind battling for the high ground, only one of you can be found
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 8
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.