Caution! I’m beginning to play with a 13th century French poetic form. Read with care!!—
“On The Border”
~
Beneath early autumn sun
Across crystal azure skies
A solitary owl flies
And tiny, frightened, vermin run,
Homeward, nightly battle done.
~~~
Under ever watchful eyes
Beneath desert morning sun
Frightened desperate people run
From the torture and the cries
As the wounded die beneath.
~~~
From high above the “shining” shun,
Mouthing, loudly, lofty lies
As, far below, the “vermin” flies
Hiding from the haughty gun,
And gilded boot they shy beneath.
Aroil in Pain 