How It Can Be
She cried so hard face hurt,
loss pulling skin
as if cheeks were limbs,
brow tied to ropes
that warred with bound chin,
as if pain rode horses,
each chained to its own course,
all whipped.
*********************
Here’s a belated and rather gloomy draft poem for Brian Miller’s micro poetry challenge on dVerse Poetry Pub–40 words or less–this just makes it with title. (Granted, it’s not such a good title, but it does fit into the prompt!)
p.s. drawing is mine, though an old one that doesn’t quite fit. All rights reserved, thanks.
ManicDDaily 
Recent Comments