Scandalmongers Poem by james watkin

Scandalmongers



Bind tight each foul urge, loosed
Through gossips does rage.
On your sworn cynic, diabolic
Secure shut the cage.

While it cannot be imagined
Heard, the hurt provoked
Too hellish! Too real! To guess
Thereon what's invoked

Out from up these mouthings
In the gargoyle-skewed!
Forms of ugliness, nobody
On this earth has viewed.

Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: gossips
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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