Free verse № 80113
To those that would teach poetry
I'm sorry teacher,
To push me through a poem,
To force me to write
Is to hold a pistol,
Its cold, relieving,
barrelled end
against my temple
That I would forge you a sword
to be used against me later,
And I say this:
Hold your flint-lock firmly
and let fly.
17 comments
A real archers bowfinger to conformity.
one note, "Its" instead of "It's"
Interesting, though.
Not gelling for me.
Unless I misunderstand entirely.
<3 Jason
interesting piece.
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