deepundergroundpoetry.com
Birth To Weeds
Sadness reborn on night twilight
chilling old wrinkled forehead
peeling the dark over my brow
in the bowels of its Gildersleeve
touched by the laurels of the dead
echoing the Mortis-lock click
giving birth to weeds
chilling old wrinkled forehead
peeling the dark over my brow
in the bowels of its Gildersleeve
touched by the laurels of the dead
echoing the Mortis-lock click
giving birth to weeds
Published 5th May 2022
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