Space of Wrath
Slither in, slither out, and look inside;
my borders are locked, the pale curtains thin
yet flames of vengeance stir from battered pride,
and rage is the owner that lives within.
The floors smell of acid, my betrayed past
a tear, a deceit from one scheming rake;
when nights’ lesion nips this maiden, outcast
as fury whips from a spirit’s mistake.
My gate at the front hides a moonlit view
that cracks with rust without making a sound,
it’s latch of distaste I can’t share with you
for heart is numb ; the key is not around.
Though empty this place of anger may be;
Iron are the walls, now it handles me.
Mad As A Hornet--Sonnet Contest
Sponsor: john lawless
10/29/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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