Poetic riffs on horror tales
of love igniting that impales
then leaves you hanging in the void,
a hell you can't kill or avoid.
The wild oats she could have sown
Were hers to seize so she could own
revenge on rapers of her soul.
But she had bought a Golden Bowl.
The crack left love words seeping through;
they left a sediment that grew
until the salts stuck in her throat;
her heart sank in the sinking boat.
Her hell was constant... but to think
she could have sipped the drunken drink
of wild oats, that nemesis,
that joyful anagnorisis.
LRH
9.10.12
Linda Hepner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carol-s-oats/
