Tuesday, April 13, 2010


We flounder with purpose,
clanging against the metal,
a side for hunger,
today once more.
You whisper tyrannical spell,
a depth beyond,
no measure of trust,
mismatched wonder.
Feel the hard stone,
against your freedom,
Yorkshire honey pies,
he comes a running.
Well said, well done,
I label you and,
you label me,
do what you must.
The rope swings higher,
secure is the step,
that climbs up reason,
cheating death.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

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