Scared Twigs Twisted
Like smithereens in cahoots,
Tensed flames swept and did brood.
Leaves strange stood
Legs curled - proper nude.
Skin sore of whips
Traced on veins by the fire's teeth.
Root rustic rhyme,
Though irregular, the branches would comply.
The earth received the soothing lance.
Imprisoned in ditto jive,
Oaks, Figs, gave tries.
And the fire lick and slew,
The libido of the jungle
Clouds in lofty peace,
The malady did see.
The sun swift in pity,
Whipped the cloud till weep be.
The tongue of the flames were cut,
And roasted in the returning sun.
Yet the scattered trees lay,
For their impending decay.
As wickedness is curbed,
But its breath pounds still in curves.
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Poetry. Scared Twigs Twisted