Gord

2026-07-21 07:28 pm

Whiter upon the mirror face,
While rubbed upon, bitter taste,
Why, are you so irritated?
You will never see them as I see them,
Dull, sullen and grey.

Wool, spun into braid.
What else should I say?
I envy everything you have,
Even if you gave it away.

Writer, upon feeling erase,
Like graphite filled veins,
I have everything to give,
And I can give it away.

White, upon the fearing caste,
While rubbed upon, bitter taste,
Why? The fear of being placated,
Like rubber farms treat waste.