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c-e-smithPoems
These are my bars. Limbs that stretch too much to soaring stars I could never touch -- these limbs are defective. Bitter restart, frail, powerless cudgels grasping at Heart. Claws cutting pastels, shredding ****** dawn sky. My mirror sepals are names and faces of all people who met my graces or sailed my winding path. Leaves of glazed gold reflect sun's bright rays as they enfold the sharpened green maze in torn and ripped portraits. Leaves of Abyss litter my bony scars swallow my bliss coat me like hot tar -- kissing at dying bark. Red lipstick stains on switch blade carvings of names on veins with no callings see me as a trophy. Nothing of worth -- just merely conquered. A space for berth and his young ******* I am nothing to him. He can't see me as mighty Belle Arbre or hear my plea as I feel his barb plunge my old wooden core. He cut me down, carve me to shape him -- I'll be His crown as he is condemned by my only Father. That's so far long -- sitting on his lap, dreaming I'm strong enough to entrap all my stolen virtue. His silver tongue wove such a strange tale -- willingly hung and welcoming jail, all he promised was love. Something bruised skin, cut lip or black eye, limbs bony thin, or tears asking why -- they've never known this thing. I reach'd for him, branches out-stretched, he was my hymn, so close, yet farfetched -- he sat among the stars. Me, bound by dirt, jealous of the birds nest'd in my skirt. They are just songbirds but take flight for granted. I would give all, every last petal if I could fall; shrink to a pebble -- give anything to hide. But I'm a tree, I'm mighty Belle Arbre. Broken, Earthly. Yet reduced to garb, Everything I am: His.
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Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Belle Arbre
These are my bars. Limbs that stretch too much to soaring stars I could never touch -- these limbs are defective. Bitter restart, frail, powerless cudgels grasping at Heart. Claws cutting pastels, shredding ****** dawn sky. My mirror sepals are names and faces of all people who met my graces or sailed my winding path. Leaves of glazed gold reflect sun's bright rays as they enfold the sharpened green maze in torn and ripped portraits. Leaves of Abyss litter my bony scars swallow my bliss coat me like hot tar -- kissing at dying bark. Red lipstick stains on switch blade carvings of names on veins with no callings see me as a trophy. Nothing of worth -- just merely conquered. A space for berth and his young ******* I am nothing to him. He can't see me as mighty Belle Arbre or hear my plea as I feel his barb plunge my old wooden core. He cut me down, carve me to shape him -- I'll be His crown as he is condemned by my only Father. That's so far long -- sitting on his lap, dreaming I'm strong enough to entrap all my stolen virtue. His silver tongue wove such a strange tale -- willingly hung and welcoming jail, all he promised was love. Something bruised skin, cut lip or black eye, limbs bony thin, or tears asking why -- they've never known this thing. I reach'd for him, branches out-stretched, he was my hymn, so close, yet farfetched -- he sat among the stars. Me, bound by dirt, jealous of the birds nest'd in my skirt. They are just songbirds but take flight for granted. I would give all, every last petal if I could fall; shrink to a pebble -- give anything to hide. But I'm a tree, I'm mighty Belle Arbre. Broken, Earthly. Yet reduced to garb, Everything I am: His.
I'm completely open to editing and critic. Please tell me how to improve! :) CESmith
#love#heartbreak#life#nature#tree#176
c-e-smith
Written by
c-e-smith
American
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
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