against my desk I lay my weary head
ailing of sully thoughts.
the prediction of an angry ruler,
a shadow above me.
dreading to rise and face the wrath,
the answer unknown-
or flown to a place of respite.
words boom, resounding,
then, a vengeful blow
lands solid upon my back.
bored slumber now gone,
stripped painfully away.
the problem child,
face to face
instead of wonderment
Copyright © Virginia Mitchell | Year Posted 2010
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