Spells For the Innocent and The Wicked
The shadows of the branches dance across the ground,
in hazy movement, with a silent sound.
Gently weaving a pattern; dancers at a ball.
Oh, the irony the likeness of it all.
Words echo from pale pink lips,
in strangely venomous drips.
((Not words for the poem....replacement for coffe smuged words.))
With each drop of thirst quenching liquid.
Would that not be most shamefully wicked?
MAD HORRIABLE POEM!!! MADLY!!!
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Read it, come on I know you don't want to....
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Soko The Sock Puppet
Community Member |
I gotta find something to put here. I know...I'll link to Steph
