Posted in Poetry


He was angry with his brother

Whose beauty was brighter

So he watered a wreath of wrath

In libation of tears from Cocytus

And grew trees that bore fruits

That he held high triumphantly

To the sun that shone it brightly.


I write stuff of my interest that does not interest anyone in my blog. No grammarians, no copy editors, no marketers, no cynics are welcome.

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