My syllables are soldiers, straight
and tethered tightly into words
of thoughtfulness commanding fates.
I weave from sentences my sword
my shining armor and the veils
that hide the chaos of my doubts.
My speech is steel, inside I’m frail
I’m turmoiled, boiling to come out.
The Topic is “order” at dVerse hosted by Laura with inspiration from the poetry of Elizabeth Jennings.
April 14, 2020