Forgetful wrath in tides of gray, a mistiness that cannot stay.
Cloudy eyes as anger rises, a thousand reds we all despise.
Beguile my youth he spits the truth appalling wretch he drawls abuse.
Clever abuse, articulate.
Obtuse abuse, oval and rounded.
The people who knew it was not them,
should not be concerned nor should they be harmed so don’t fear reprisals you’ll come to no harm.
© G.P Williamson 2017