Spring Poem : The scorpion
I grab the towel beneath the window,
With the healing scars on my cheek still mocking me in the mirror.
The scorpion is dancing in the sky, its poison is the liquor to my dream.
I fight the clouds, for my spring to bring,
And through a twinkling stars,
My fears in a beam,
The scorpion and its sting,
Blossom cherries on the top of the cars.
My foggy thoughts in a rusty old blade
Laying by my bed.
The truths in the wind, brings back the red roses,
And there lies the scorpion dying, in the shade of an oak.