Poezja

During the pre-evening liturgy
Betwixt a shabby stall
Irate I sit scribing seasoned verses
Silent as an infant in production

Whilst the slaughtering of pacifism
Across the universe ‘tis my soundness
Perforated by the eerie current

‘Twas delivered via the vapors of her breath

Curtly, such graphic memories gnaw the very bones
Of what I had thought to be timeless romance
Though once again I’ve been forsaken
To drink all ‘twas left unsaid and unknown