Cunning Ploy…

A well placed tap

upon the glass

shattered the facade

of falsehoods fashioned


chaos crafted


confusion set a wicked trap


it fell with just one tap…




won’t bring the sunrise

or cause the moon to glow..

A wish

won’t cause a starry night

when storm clouds swell and grow..

A dream

won’t bring to me your touch

or smiles I used to know..


I will hope and wish and dream

till home to you I go…

Your Throne…

On the back of prides horse

you rode so high

thundering through clouds

thoughtlessly crashing by…

Your cup overflowed

with the strings you would hold

no care for the price

when the goal was more gold….

Waves occasionally came

from a broken hand

and wisdom eroded

like grains of sand…

Blind till the end

on an arrogant throne

of a fallen kingdom

 pride sits alone…

She Stays,,,

Holding fast to the narrow view

A sturdy cage of mind

Without a bar

Coloring carefully

Within well placed lines

She draws comfort

From the box of her making

Too timid

To stretch any thinking

Contentment is fed by her desires

 Not to go beyond the closet

Of her knowing

And all the while

Fears are growing…

Copyright © Murrsma 2015