By Elvira
Go, and Count my
jewels —
as I see HIS angels.
Mortal man thinks only for
Comfort
the Soul be DAMNED
Feel no pain, I see
only the light of ?
Words spoken by faceless ones:
Words of concern
(others, silent because they Hate.)
Is my grave ready? Or, like mere
subjects be confined in
butter boxes.
I’ll not care.
Darkness:
Soothing
the Light disappearing
I’ll recover,
after all
‘Tis a pity, the Malcontents
Say.
June 2015
