Of Words Like Knives: Day Twenty-Four

Of words like knives once edged in folded steel,
Of words that pump like blood from heart’s extract,
Of words that tear the night from rage revealed,
Of words that wail with stolen spirit’s lack.

A fountain pen that showers only pain,
In form that speaks five hundred years betray,
The leather pages’ bind these spells arcane,
To congress modern words in ancient phrase.

To cut this spoken word like fish’s gut,
Its entrails spill, on Shakespeare’s pike impale,
Hep C, indeed, come taste my diseased glut,
Fair reader pass beneath this herald’s vail,

Of words that wail with stolen spirit’s lack,
Of words that pump like blood from heart’s extract.

24/30

Words: 111
Unique Words: 77

#NaPoWriMo2019

NaPoGloPoWriMo2019