Friday, 4 May 2012

Writing - poetry #2

Afternoon all, hope you're well. You may remember this post, a month ago, in which I shared an upbeat little ditty about two of the world's oldest professions. Today, something a little more dark.


Sonnet no.1

Burn each and every member of the flock
Before the black bird swoops and takes his prey
(The most easy of these: those numbed by shock,
The rest blinded or taken in affray).
But he swoops, he dives, he eats my insides
And blood drips as we crow, his beak a key
That opens me. Again, I watch him glide
I’d rather drift, a pyre out at sea.
It seems smoking him out has no effect
So now it is my chest where he resides –
Jailed by ribs, they can take all his pecks
With his tongue I have no need to comply.
Now after so long abusing my pen
All of my words shall become mine again.