Words make a path to my
Tongue more silent and
Venomous than any sudden
Flood of tears.
Groping.
Violent urges
Curl my fingers into fists.
Death grips me and gnaws
At my pride.
Fervid, I am –
Frustrated.
Strung out across the boundaries
Of utopia
While the diabolical vicar
Cackles.
Must I grovel as you gibe?
My ephemeral folly
Finds me grappling
With infamy.
I find this affinity for evil
Base effrontery.
Unusual word choices – a very emotional image emerges in this piece.
Thanks, Melody. I meant to send you a link to “Temptation”. Thought of you while I was posting. Hope you like!
I haven’t done my reading for the day yet, so I’ll be popping over later! Sounds eintersting!