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Poetry
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| a spiders crawl | |
| By cordialfreedom | ||
| 03 February 2007 | ||
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A daughters dreaded duty call. There was nothing but a call to answer, A spiders crawl of lies and vitriol, Torn apart with hate. Red mist pouring from handsets shaking end, She speaks,dry mouthed To calm the tide. But waves rise to crash The seaboard of her life All self and worth Like dead starfish,picked and examined by Small hands. She puts herself in her pocket And goes back to The nothing,, Waiting for next weeks call.
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