Thrashing

Hurt beast

thrashing

amidst the oils

and inks.

Canvas-slashings,

pencil-gnashing,

because the wild

mind thinks.

A lair so deep,

grief stacked

five deep

in clay. Cracked.

Jagged flames,

uncorked, unchained,

do not refrain,

artist…

rage.

Rage against the

sameness of

pain,

and howl at

the blackness

of the things

you cannot

say.


© CGT, 2018.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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