Ferocious
The blood- so much of it upon the floor
of that small cell - was all that remained
of fury in a prison hell.
The guards could find no weapons,
for what they'd missed was this:
the slaughter had been
wrought simply by
a female
inmate's
fists.
For the Poem that time forgot 2 Poetry Contest of silent one
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
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