Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

This is a metaphor

WEASEL

Small teeth that bite lock to the wrist's small bones.
Cannot be shaken off. They cannot break heŕ supple snake strong neck.
All that she was and did they left in wreck
For god and money. All a weasel owns
Hopeless is death and hate and those sharp teeth
To hurt and worry maybe make them bleed
Small triumph but a triumph still indeed
Tear skin to ribbons. Sinews underneath
Chew useless. Palsy hand that's raised to hurt
Hang gnaw. They say it's useless to complain
At least this death will cause a little pain.
They snap her spine and leave her in the dirt.
Eventually. Remembered by her mark
Red carved in flesh she goes into the dark.
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