01-30-2018, 08:25 AM
(A bad toad poem is at the very least still a toad poem)
Words that Slither, Words that Shine
I croaked from her mouth
like the curse I was,
like the curses she uttered,
until the water was a knot
of eyes with no sight
of a golden ball to retrieve.
While her sister sang in the night,
stars falling from her lips
like fiery petals.
Words that Slither, Words that Shine
I croaked from her mouth
like the curse I was,
like the curses she uttered,
until the water was a knot
of eyes with no sight
of a golden ball to retrieve.
While her sister sang in the night,
stars falling from her lips
like fiery petals.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson