Poetry

It was the presence. 
Somewhere magnolias 
were in bloom. 
 
At this moment, there 
was a meek withdrawl 
sidestepping the explosion. 
 
In the hour of 
waking. Moon was sleeping, 
morning after the acid attack― 
 
putting ahead the 
dilemma, before the sun rises 
retracting the claim for martyrdom. 
 
Anxiety was writ 
large on the volte-face of earth 
when it failed to lasso the witch.