Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Wily words

A tart response to every word
Biting the tones, the undercurrent
This has what it's come to be
Life has turned out to be errant

Underhanded, the thoughts and ways
Devious plotting, forever hellish
Vindictive, if I begin to think
In its fumes, I will perish

There's a tomorrow, there's hope
Snap out, everyone will, of phases.
I pray that it happen sooner.
And, able I am to outmaneuver mazes.