Challenge
Challenge of the Month XXXIX
Write a short poem about your own private Hell. The tortured who reigns gets 100 big ones. Winner will be picked by Prose. Go.
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Yielding Will Wielded
Departed from a womb,
born an inception of heeded conscious catacomb.
From a brown orb tainted pair of half moon gazes,
curious and deciphering child’s play guises.
As orbits continuity passes,
a sacred bowl of water trickles,
conceptual feeding and flowing begun,
winding through, and through ambiguity.