Moodswings Poem by Stan Petrovich

With the Gorgon's head
Flush to my cheek,
Her ungodly breath
In my nose,
Whispering to me:
'Take the extreme I give you
And plunge it into your fellow man;
For they deserve no less.'
Like an arrow I shot out eyes with my eyes,
A spear, I controlled little lives.
Having changed now,
From a simpering fool
To the devil's tool,
My core is apple-rotten,
Misbegotten,
And all I require is forgiveness
For my tiredness,
Which is the Gorgon of moods.