Poor Poetry: Cinquain

Cinquains are rather short poems and so I wrote two!

I sleep till late
through the dogs shrill barking.
They cannot wake my fate.
All along I’m dreaming
although I fear it’s falling.

It’s a black sun.
It’s in my chest and gut.
It’s not fun.
It’s a whimpering mutt
this black sun in my chest and gut.

If you want to check out my Villanelle, you can do so here.

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