Bury

Under books, work, the weight of the world,
Fierce shadows lurk, and sit beside me curled,
As though a cat, purring asleep,
But ready to pounce, leap
Upon my lap, claws ready, sharp,
A heartless stab, jab, scratch and tear,
If I should I dare
Pull myself up to breathe,
It would not sheathe
Those talons,
Instead all would fall
In gallons
Of books, work, the weight of the world,
In one swift flurry,
Completely bury.

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Author: George McDermid

I scratch out poems, and the odd little tale. Mostly for my own amusement.

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