Sunday, March 16, 2014

Spikes

Never have the wicked asked
About the secrets that we masked
Yet hours, minutes, seconds passed
Now we have reached the last

The road with a dead end
It had no bend
It could not suspend or defend
Nor could it mend

It only struck with great force
Its bend-less course
An earthquake-like horse
An unknown source

Shattered glass
We made no pass
No casque
The glass stood on my head like grass