A.W. Books & Poetry

The sole old drop to end the clock, the ocean screams on

It whimpers and wails to the walls of a cowards cold heart

Yet cry, it might, the stringy plight will drip from dusk to dawn

Crafting waves of misfortune and turning the torrid tide tart

But if I beckon along my words get lost in the songs

They devour words with the worst of lies and play their record

Then hum the blind song who refuses to acknowledge wrongs

And even though it can’t see, it leads with solemn accord

Did prayers protect the venerated “vermin” from Shrikes?

Because the song continues in the torrid tragedy.

And while the ocean’s opal heart was rammed rotten by pikes,

The staged mourning song conducted its garnished pageantry

But damned depths will steadily rise and down the folly walls

As the passion for change echoes through these haunted halls

-Annalise Wellman

*In memory of the 17 lives lost during the Parkland shooting*

#MSDstrong