Black Robed the Bench and Power
Huddled poor the masses, did you say, not I.
Whirlpools hide the dragon and it's eye.
Needles would I thread upon one point.
Before the Gavel falls, I'd hear your allocution.
While one was never made, ambition grew.
Each priest before his god, one never stood.
Here a rose and there it's bud, yet beauty paused.
Lillie's look caused her to Donn a rustic mask.
James McLain Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
