Irene Anne Fraser

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Amid the dark forms of the street...he stood;
With his arms huddled,...stationed there,.. erect as wood;
He was clear to me, as in the arrival of spring;
In the usuality of me...had my psyche thinking;
Reflecting Rhyme
Perhaps my ear is not attuned, to prose not penned in rhyme;
Personally preferable to balladry back in time;
When poetry meant each second sentence was aligned;
Absorbing each verse, and every line;
Subtly Severed
Subjectively sabatoged by the sapience of another one;
Alert to the adverse, detrimental destruction;
Oblivious to my observance of the ongoing replay;
With this one still musing on...the power to sway;


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6/22/2021 1:56:36 AM #