***
Breathless you stumble,
through the clutter.
With an ache in your chest,
you wheeze through your mumble,
then are reprimanded for the stutter-
Branded by crest-
you're owned by the dogs.
Once,
You would've made mincemeat of them,
but now you submit-
"O vile submission!"
But you do not quit living,
for you are still proud,
but shame's still imposed,
for your cries are too loud,
for the dogs.
So at their will ,
you bow,
With a back that is broken-
a back that won't heal as it should.
So you kneel,
and the dogs spit on you,
as you clean their shoes.
And you are afraid,
of their mocks and their glares.
Reverance is not deserved.
Their claws at your throat as you paw,
at the dogs,
who show no mercy.
***
YOU ARE READING
The Lines We Write ✔
Poetry❝Dreamer is too pretty of a word: A breath of wistful naivety, Masquerading as the oxygen of hope in our lungs. It reads as a fantastical tale of serendipity, In the novel, Life- Written in our name.❞ Highest ranking: #58 in poetry
