Written confessions of
Mundane avocations
Briefed & circled
Arrived bestowed
Swarming enemies
Cold wars
Doubled edged swords
Printed masks
Dust covered skin
Stretched over
Bones too big
Forms too estranged
Rips tear
Skin laid bare
How can thee compare
The glare blank stare
A body separated
From soul of self
Placed upon thy shelf
A heart burried
Planted below, feet
How they bellow
Silent screams
Muted voices
A lover of past
Reunited at last
The aortic pump
A mere *****
Beating throbbing
In her grasp
Claimed
Oh
How she dared claim
That sordid past.
And the other
She took the body
Both sufficed.
Two different stories
Questions, acquisitions
No confabulations
As to where art tho soul!

Notably, it is said;
The body is merely dust & stone
Bone & chrome
Plastic, catastrophic,
The heart, oh thy heart
No longer gaping
Lonely & pulsating
She stole thee heart
Oh she stole thee heart
His heart
Without even firing a dart.

The other, the wife
Filled with rife, strife
Burying those old bones
Of his,
Of his,
Six feet under
Covered
In
Gravel & sand
Mud & land
Spit on his grave
For at least
She can bury such resentment
For she,
The other
Stole his heart, broke her heart
Not once!
But twice.
Will that ever even suffice!
Two women at war,
One man
Oh he,
He is now dead!

© Sia Jane