Welcome to My Poetry
look in the mirror
sweet husband of mine Thane of Cawdor you will not see the truth you will see horror in the round in the eyes of that man who was and is no more if there be no blood then there be no history and you shall be the assassin of his days all at my command…
the poet has written his last
and in the dying of his ink the rivers of his days are gone as if they never flowed or knew their origin his words are vapours now
the world spinning
like a kaleidoscope on fire all streaming vivid chaos in its wake he asked her why she left she did not reply like a woman boards a train and does not look back and yet she had a voice fragile as the dusk as a miming clown inaudible to his audience speaks volumes of regret…
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Flynnpoetry 