Have you looked back on an older poem you wrote and said, “What does this even mean?” That was me today. Lol.
He chopped at the log with the fury of a Greek God
The foggy mountain top he raised his head to gaze
Armed sufficiently when insincerity and indecency collide
His flaming head now full of dread and thinking that he’s dead
Damning thoughts they disappear the ax he swings relieved
Fully consumed with gratitude she lays him-freed, in the ground.