The Scorpion
Fierce thoughts,back and red
Waits the dark quiet creature
Everywhere and out-of-sense
Stays and waits the sting of death.
In the desert sick with heat
Where burnt sand and dust does reek,
Lurks beneath and crawls thereon
The spider-like red scorpion.
Ages dried by hot suns burn,
Brusquely quick, sharply brittle
Forms this skeletonized lizard,
Fear this small burnt red devil.
Blind to you in gleaming light
Or blackened by depths of night,
Fast as fire and tight with rage
Stone mind unconsciously brave.
Pity on the weary man
long traveled over life's land,
Or the young unknowing lad
Who's suddenly stung by chance
Fierce thoughts, black and red
Waits this dark quiet creature
Everywhere and out of sense
Stays and waits the sting of death
Copyright © Mark East | Year Posted 2010
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