Littlest Brontides | cereseithne
Silence is Not Consent
Mightily flattened lips fluttering unfailingly,
a face ashen as if deprived of a little sanguine,
almost a carcass stoically standing on the ground
with an apprehension swelling incessantly
───if all of these looked like a silent acquiescence
to let you bring about an act of moral repugnance,
regardless of the absence of withdrawal,
then an utter shame on you.
YOU ARE READING
Littlest Brontides
PoetryAn anthology tackling the cosmic baffling collision of societal conditions and the incalculable prejudices and other musings coming as littlest brontides with a hope that their low rumbles may find their ways to you. Always and forever, Ceres Eithne
