Wicked Mischief
Stealthily and with no invitation,
Wicked Mischief rides into my night,
dismounts and strides inside. How impolite!
For rudely she intrudes - this aberration,
bearing that unholy “deprivation”
strongly brewed with venom of her spite,
and if I can, I’ll try to expedite
her speedy flight; thus my liberation.
My desperation’s growing all the while.
Can I fight her power? Can I flee
her whisperings unceasing that so rile
me? Oh, precious seconds gone! I see
light of day. Sweet sleep she did defile.
Insomnia has wrought fait accompli.
March 9,2014
For the Love or Hate, Pick a Subject 2 Poetry Contest of Shadow Hamilton
I hate Wicked Mischief!!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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