Violet rose petals

clutched in a death-grip

deep within the reservoirs

of musty old books

and dirty laundry,

wailing unrepentantly

yet focused like a laser,

the pathos represented by the reprehensible

sigil marking the dreaded forehead

headed for the River Styx.


Still, fire-breathing marshmallows

wrap their seedy sinews

round the last superego

beckoning hell to fell the Tree

and none will ever see the snow fall again.

Thanks a lot,¬†Heraclitus…


2 thoughts on “Undiluted

  1. Really like this, the title is just perfect for the whole poem!


  2. ws141 says:

    Thanks, Estrella. I did put a little extra work in on this one.


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