Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Rookie ((1900-1865) / An Industrial City in a shoddily assembled one-floored house.)

Matyr - Poem by Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Not mine, his.
Views half clear
yet shattered by ice.
The Matyr sits.

It cries,
It may start a fire,
Could be wrong.
The sign he says,
Shows no song.

Religious gathering,
People fall.
To the claws,
of his maul.

There's no stopping.
The Matyr,
Strong, Strength, Super,
He is not alarmed.


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, November 3, 2007

Poem Edited: Friday, April 22, 2011


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