Friday, March 10, 2017

THE TRIAL

I am bound,
Stretched naked on an ant hill,
Tethered so tight,
The insects pity me.
Yet they must torment me.
They have no will,
Unlike corrupt men
Who bite for a fee.
Over lifetimes ill winds blow
Every week,
Poisoned sometimes,
Other times merely foul.
They bring pestilence
And grey skies so bleak
They encourage
Horrid black dogs to howl.

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