Anti-venom

She had ambled and rambled, through the reverie and the bramble;

Unaware that she gambled, with something deadly in the preamble.

Her imagination was sterilized, after a few days without any poetry;

She was bitten and paralyzed, by the serpent of complacency – totally.

The apparently virulent venom vehemently affects her mentality,

Seemingly contaminating concoction course through her personality…

(The motions of her art, aren`t easy to forget –

The waves of emotions, which flood the sight

The ink like blood – mud, which soils the white;

The rhymes, like snakes, uncoil then recoil – applying a bite

Of unmitigated evocation – somehow, a beneficial sensation)…

Yet, this infection, in the plasma of her imagination;

Is the medication for the asthma of her pen,

The alleviation of the restraint of her spiritual Zen,

(Like Pythagoras) Her summation, her perfection – ten.

This was, the elision of all her metrical stagnation,

The sanitation of all her melodious formulations.

Her Anti-venom.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker