My poetry/prose

Naught.

 

What tears are these?

They sear,sting and stain

Like that stigma,that scar

Was it that damned spot

"Out I say" that plucked

Lady Macbeth's courage

Until a little tick,a booming roar

Scraped at my own heart's slate

Beckoned me to retreat,to turn

Wayward into that manger of ire

 

Or was it wrath no more when

Anger has taught me naught

Sorrow has taught me naught

That tolerance denotes a wise folly

Would u dance alone,shadow

Till u dance no more

As the day bids farewell

And so doth the sun glow naught

Bring me out to run

When in searching found the sun

A slender cast,a little hue

Run fast as I might fly

Mangled form and bluish veins

And all is snuffed when naught remains.