Beyond Its Wood

There is a door within this, sordid sadist'ry, thou quietly ignore, it's simple sum...a book. Beyond it's wood, a read, so seem'ly, 'plex'd', no cunt can open it, to have it's heart, or understand it's word. Nor force, upon it's strength, nor lock upon its face, nor key...will ever crack this place, and only children know the way. There is a garden there, and graceful days...nobility and love and life, without cease.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Alois Arnegger, wooded stream painting