3 august 2021
There Was No Prelude
Clubfoot.
A poet's dilemma.
You cannot think straight,
cannot walk straight―
unaided.
In grimaced face, one
eye patched, there stood a deliverer
with raised hands―
bringing down the empire of
a baby king.
You walk out of the painting
mutely. The king was
ready to be laid down for the
poisoning effect.
Was there anybody to
explain that why the dynasty
falls one day and the
poet wins the broken fort?
14 may 2025
wiesiek
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
wiesiek
13 may 2025
Eva T.
12 may 2025
wiesiek
11 may 2025
wiesiek