|
| |
26-4-2025
Another oath I’ve sworn,
Another spoken lie.
Any way to home,
Court me into a door open wide.
Another totem born,
Another standing so high.
Another day,
Another poem,
Thoughts come in the form of rhyme.
Rows of corn,
Pleased to be born,
Taught to stand in line.
Thoughts worn and dry,
Fields seem forlorn,
Ought to stand and comply.
Grown with a thorn caught to my side,
I Seemed scorned,
But I fought not to die.
I let the thorn haunt me,
Caught witching my mind.
I left my oath to naught,
Gears switching in my mind.
Copyright ©
R.P. Grcic
|
|