Shant – Poem

Shant Furious at questions (Which mildly hint Toward a suggestion Of mental-squint) She slams with a tired tongue, Crying, for she is young. Forgiven for the same; And Mother's love Gives on beyond the pain, For hope above Drives her soul onward now - Praying the seed sown grows.

Untitled Poem

UNTITLED There was certainly something subtle About a person who - refusing speech - Sang of heroes, supermen, rebuttle. Hatred pours the way of the challenger; Never rightly fired, like magma marks out It's source. Beware your tongues wagging danger.