Gothic institution, high on island hill.
Oceans of ink. A sky entirely of quill.
The Warden’s keys jangle alarmingly in the lock.
She punches in, signalling day’s beginning on the clock.
Tag: Rhyme
Wounded Warriors, Poetry by Deborah Johnson
When the young and innocent sign up to defend freedom with pride,
Knowing the possible sacrifice causing fearful questions deep inside.
Yet still defending freedom without regard to cost,
Against those enemies filled with evil, killing the weak and lost.
WILDsound Festival 