The Fallen-Grass

There's anger in the fallen-grass,
And rage out on the plain;
For dew that falls like morning guilt,
For words that drip, and stain --

No varnished lies can cover this,
No magic twists of pen:
For we are too far down the path,
And can't go back 
Again

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant