What use is verse
in this old world
of pain
and misery.
How can a simple,
subtle line
decipher or define
a world that’s torn,
like flesh
ripped
by a roses thorn.
How can I compare thee
to a summer’s day,
when the sun
shies away
behind angry skies,
while the only clouds that float
o’er this old town
clap with thunder
and pour with venom.
What use are pretty,
delicate words
to ears
more used
to swears and moans.
They care not
for this blood red rose,
which pouts like
swollen lover’s lips,
whose kiss
draws sweat
from ashen skin.
Oh Lord, please tell me,
what use is verse
on a
day like this….?
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