by Patrice Clarkson | Apr 23, 2018 | My Musings, Poetry
Pathetic and sad He goes forth The essence of bad. No one curtails No one dare tell The evil one He is going to wither In hell. He doesn’t know It doesn’t have to be so He could be happy And glad. All that’s required Is to...
by Patrice Clarkson | Jun 12, 2013 | Poetry
Sadly, secret murky tiled No hope, destitute merciless bile Twist, turn fight and bat Get to where the strength is at Mess, mired deep down in No way open can’t begin Mutter, sputter rage and fume Makes no difference The rose still blooms. ~ Patrice © Patrice...
