“Where Storms Nest by Stewart Stafford

Time's arrow has left its quiver,
And mortal men denied a sliver,
Of sweet-faced solace or settled debt,
Surrendering all to sweeping death.

Beware the vixen with the perished pup,
Of merciless slight and sacrilegious sup,
Of mother's milk and witches' brew,
Curdling infamy and death's-head stew.

The trap is sprung, the rider unseated,
A mourning procession for the defeated,
A great wrong sits on the anointed throne,
She is Queen Bee and you, but a drone.

From a spider's web veil, she does regard,
Hateful glances from black heart's shard,
Envenomed nature of poisonous Man,
The scorpion's strike of a foul plan.

After seeking power and blood and lust,
Remorse a late guest to a dagger's thrust,
The vulture shrieks to the globe's outer rim,
That Man's ambition is a Hell to him.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”