I'm tired of love
poems
The laundry of
attraction.
I weary of
sadness reiterated
Everywhere.
The wombs of
Creation
Are omnipresent.
I read your sojouron
into the skin side
of this
Madness.
No I don't know what
you mean. The
Rhetoric of the
young, of the aged,
that moan of the years
that stretch, the direction
Empty
of arms to hold you,
of Kisses too
silent,
of hearts that beat
Alone.
Send me to the banks
of literature. The Ganges
where dust quaffs and
Fire burns and there is
only the poetry of tears
for the
Unforgiven.
Caroline Shank
7.12.2022
Jul 12, 2022
Jul 12, 2022 at 9:22 PM UTC
I'm tired of love
poems
The laundry of
attraction.
I weary of
sadness reiterated
Everywhere.
The wombs of
Creation
Are omnipresent.
I read your sojouron
into the skin side
of this
Madness.
No I don't know what
you mean. The
Rhetoric of the
young, of the aged,
that moan of the years
that stretch, the direction
Empty
of arms to hold you,
of Kisses too
silent,
of hearts that beat
Alone.
Send me to the banks
of literature. The Ganges
where dust quaffs and
Fire burns and there is
only the poetry of tears
for the
Unforgiven.
Caroline Shank
7.12.2022
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