Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2014
right in
the middle of
a fresh
lightning storm
the devil
played upon
his red fiddle born
the smell of sulfur
fire and brimstone torn
what breathe the air tonight
no light for the soul to move
that makes a Devil's brew in sight
Written by
Stu Harley
366
   Cheshi and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems