For The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #177
horses, signal, bullets, thrust, plant, dismal,
edge, spot, rose, locks, ball, meandering
Words :1 – Elizabeth :0
Today, I ran away from the words.
But they refused my most adamant
signals, thrusting themselves
into meandering edge of awareness.
Wanted to punch them down like a ball
of bread dough, but they just kept rising,
buzzing at my ear like a dismal cloud
of ravenous locusts.
Wild horses trampling fragile plants
in my quiet garden of consciousness,
or bullets locked onto chosen target
of rather spotty perceptions.
Throwing hands in air, I conceded,
while they dared to cheer.
Elizabeth Crawford 9/7/14