Pointless Quills

Pointless Quills What of humor’s quick and barbed defense so thrilled me in its parry-thrust dismay hid me beneath its thicket dense a demon come to curse – not pray used me as the sword of anger’s wrath poison spittle foaming on my tongue slashing at the shadows of my past a warrior commissioned much too young. Loneliness – cold comforts fearful ruse recoiling from the touch of vacant years coiled, snake-like, its venom set to loose stinging pain of long forgotten tears. Cornered in the depths of memory’s crypt peering over soul-less, dusty sills amorphous sliding into nondescript sad porcupine denuded of its quills. John G. Lawless 8/13/2017