Laurawrites.net

Sowing dragon’s teeth while fighting in his lair,
The witchery of fiction are clothes that never tear.
Fluttering in a cloud while the ground is drawing near,
They try to pierce the heart, to drench with blood and tears.
Tasting the sour grapes that make the bitter wine of loneliness,
Playing the viper to the heart, with a love that doesn’t exist.
No ghost was needed to tell as the doors flew open wide,
And no secret was left sacred, ripped out from the inside.
The cold, blue stones you see through, the envy in your eyes,
Pale veils of scorn and loathing, turning fire to ice.
It’s written on your face and it’s withering on the vine,
I would tear down the walls of Hell to stop the hands of time...

©1995, Laura Chambers-Wright. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, transmitted, or reproduced in any manner without explicit written permission from the author.