A.J. Bland-Fears

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Sweet, Seductive Sleep
When cold, bitter winds blow
Barren trees pregnant with snow
Street lamps offering their muted glow
Traffic meandering at a cautious flow, Such a pleasure to be inside
To Die For
A settling in before the dusk
The quiet hour before the dawn
A slow day without the rush
Timeless setting of a golden sun. Curling up with a good book
Alone At Ease
Being alone
Is a state that some
Desperately free from
Even when full-grown. But why?
The Bleating Of The Lambs
The slaughterhouse poses motionlessly white and erect
Where her weary hands cleaned the mirrors there
as they shamelessly did reflect,
The woefulness, yet the blessedness of her weekly chore


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6/18/2021 2:09:24 PM #