Poems/Quill

In fetters of fast-talkers,

Like a songbird forced to trill.

Expectant schoolmarm lashings,

From upon the church.

Like arts and crafts at gunpoint,

It’s a rape in macramé.

Knit a poetic doily,

With a drifter’s hands.

Tattered wares are harkening,

As they do bleat their musings.

Adhere and take to writing,

With a scrounger’s quill.

Lone Wolf1990 09:40, February 21, 2012 (UTC)