Herbe Mauvaise

Herbe Mauvaise

A Poem by Jocie de Jaune

It lies upon her back,
in a grotesque fashion.
Lumps and bumps appearing,
the cracks begin to gash.

This is no physical mass,
NO, nothing can contain it.
It is but the breeze
of cool on a winters day.

Yet this breeze is not
gentle, I do declare!
It howls and growls,
and snarls and shouts.

Much like a canine.
But, Woe, what did
I but say in this verse?
This is not physical.

It is the plague of
a mind,
Its very material-
twisted and changed.

Nothing can stop it,
no apothicy  can cure
the meanders of a
starving weed.

© 2016 Jocie de Jaune


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Added on March 13, 2016
Last Updated on March 14, 2016

Author

Jocie de Jaune
Jocie de Jaune

Toulouse, France



About
I speak fluent English but live in the south of France. Writing makes me happy! My favourite book, all though its painful to choose, is probably the haunting short novel, member of the wedding by Cars.. more..

Writing