A Broken Life

The mort of a spinning heart
Gliding in an orchard of lost souls
A hermit forcing
A time and world perturbed
A method; ethic
Destroy a cast spirit
Bound in ink dripped lies
Ruling dark
Destitute upon his own shores
Of ten houses demolished
By greed and will of other
Fly off to the bushes
Cry for in secret
Destitute; an executioner
Ply, place the world, a universe
Not a home.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s