The Raised Voice
As long as all the rancour is directed elsewhere
I find myself encouraging it. Kill the common enemy.
Over tea you will steam it out, and I can not agree more.
On a rampage, the nostrils-flared beauty is all over you.
The only disagreement is about specific punishment.
You tend to favour hanging -- and I call for beheading.
Tonight though, I am a sudden advocate of clemency.
Benefit of the doubt. Pardon of the accused, even.
Those beloved eyes that have narrowed so often
upon the disembowelling of anyone offending one of us
are focused for the first time on me, and my raised voice.
I stare at your cup. The shock is lightning. Forgive me.
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --