If the Shoe Fits
I must act now upon impulse,
With wicked toil, I live with no rest
Oh, my own self I doth repulse,
As my own self I doth protest!
I feel hung in trapped suspension,
Spun in webs of silk and stress
And all my intentions are wrapped in tension-
Please, would one kind hand of me caress?
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013
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