Quickworded
Quickworded
I flensed quickworded
the face of my brother
full sore he flinched
then soured against me
his loss bit deep
alone I wildered
wield not word-swords
ware be our speaking
👁 5💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.