Another poem. Maybe I will try to do these more often. I enjoy writing them or at least trying to do so.
Fired lightning streaks through my forked veins.
A hornet’s venom, blind and sharp,
Mutinies cerebral reins;
Trembling, tremored waves commence
And shake my withered, waxing frame.
Battering, they my mind dispense
From sense, and shift my sense to shame.
Leaping, dashing, the mental scarp,
Grace drags from me the caprine chains
And sings a song of angel’s harp.