beneath the screams of my outrage,
you wonder of my salient tenacity.
My hares, have already been released...
Yet the finger spaced hollow at
the neck, slipped hemlock corners
into bloated greed's cold sweat-
left only room to slip a spearhead
into grievance's shame.
My hares, guide them O' Andraste...
Dare a single last exhale, after a fatal blow
to widen the wound, before lent release.
To spill the mother's victory dance
amid wooly cloak fern and wire grass-
where bent spines and broken fingers
can no longer speak the names.
My hares, they bear mute witness...
Beneath the stinging woad dyes,
declaration to rise against time's ashen layers.
Where forgotten, is the women who birthed
fools, and savage foreign seed flows-
into stygian soil and damp dreams
they are delivered by tempered iron.
My hares, they await my release...














I loved the refrain lines to emphasize the emotion in the strength these lines convey. So much lovely phrasing in this. Thank your sharing with The Blue Lamp 



34 old applause
