I've been a fool and I've been blind
never able to leave our past behind,
The wound drips, stains the cotton red
but I remember its beauty once, thread
and needles dancing a cold waltz.
River rocks grind to a halt, petals
bend on one knee to accept the nettles
like a hapless king. I remember, I refuse
to forget the bubbling spring of gentle abuse
where my heart gasped for air.
Our season of contentment has turned fallow,
our wounds bleed through a shadow
of a life we could have loved. Bury your
hands in the dusty soil, trace the gore
trembling down your sleepy hands.
Let's lay our demons to rest.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
I've been a fool and I've been blind
never able to leave our past behind,
The wound drips, stains the cotton red
but I remember its beauty once, thread
and needles dancing a cold waltz.
River rocks grind to a halt, petals
bend on one knee to accept the nettles
like a hapless king. I remember, I refuse
to forget the bubbling spring of gentle abuse
where my heart gasped for air.
Our season of contentment has turned fallow,
our wounds bleed through a shadow
of a life we could have loved. Bury your
hands in the dusty soil, trace the gore
trembling down your sleepy hands.
Let's lay our demons to rest.
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