Fertile battlefields

A world without spice

This abyss without borders

The galaxy, it’s distance

Its wars must be won

Well-being, a sign of victory


The mind is a battlefield

Our muses ready to combat

Fine threads in our minds

Cobwebs clouding our thoughts

Copyright 2017- Vivian Zems 

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #41

Mish, tonight’s host, has asked us to write a quadrille with the word ‘spice’- or its derivative.