Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2015
We are wrestling against Stygian tides
This agony is yours too,
Not just mine.

I see you see me with impassive eyes;
Such smothering obligations,
Your smothered sighs…

It makes me want to weep
To see us drown in this impasse.

The rocks tire of turning,
The ravens grow hoarse, screaming
You are not my mother;

And I, a graceless archer, live
By slaughtering birds at night,
And burying corpses by day.

Laughter floats like a mirage
Hovering above us like doves.

You say
I hate you.

But I hate myself more.
Written by
Hiraeth  Delhi, India
(Delhi, India)   
     Lior Gavra, Traveler and sol
Please log in to view and add comments on poems