The poisoned penA Poem by CherrieJust mess'n aroundI can't take my eyes from the quill. That barbed instrument of guilt. Patently I wait for the sun, with hope its venom will wilt. A breeze tickles its plume, and I long to rage in its truth. I've placed it just out of reach. And find, a good nights rest will renew my will.
© 2019 CherrieAuthor's Note
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7 Reviews Added on August 5, 2019 Last Updated on August 10, 2019 |


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