In Just a Fissure
Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck
For if the struggle
Needs weapons
Give it words
Repudiation
Enthralled me but
Never shall be free
With only a host
Of phantom listeners
Concealing its fury
With just a gentle hiss
Never venting its loath
Never turning to its maker
With condemned hate
When hail and fire converge
In just a fissure
Bearing only just a deeper malice
Inviting only an occult mind
And spatters only wicked stones.
Copyright © Connie Moraba | Year Posted 2017
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