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B Bonnete Feb 8
The beat had been so bastardized that a tree had grown to protect it;
To harbor silence in the cacophony of pain ridden daggers.
Isolation was the only remedy to a disease persistent to turn past into present,
So she grew on her own terms, and her heart beat for no one but herself,
Because to let someone in, meant to risk axing away at the barricade she had worked so arduously to withstand.
When she fell into him the first time, the wounds were preemptive.
Her brittle bones cast away at the hopes that he would see her heart before her mind;
From which idiosyncratic branches wrapped around her fingertips,
And the oak shards springing from within, just barely inching away from his own heart.
Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to mind.
When he stripped to bare back the scars were evident,
They cascaded from collarbone to the dip of his hip.
That’s when he brought her closer and whispered marvelously:
“I would bleed again for you.”
At the beginning, the boy hurt,
Yet he still saw her heart and the purity it held between the prongs of a wooden cage.
So he continued to hurt, for her.
His mission rooted in the purpose of painting her the canvas of what life ought to be.
Penciling in the possibility of a reality where her aching shoulders could be lifted,
And a new smile plastered onto her lifeless frame.
He painted her in the image of who she used to be-
As if he knew her soul before it had grown weary at life’s expense.
In the canvas, the wooden cage had disappeared, and an ethereal luminosity shown through her chest.
He had unveiled her heart, and no longer was it encompassed by a shell, but freely beating;
Beating for him.
Every morning, day in and day out, meters of her branches gradually retracted,
And the boy’s scars gradually sealed over to a blank canvas.
Oddly enough, it seemed as if they had healed each other.
That the quiet embraces they held each night didn’t pierce him,
but rather comforted his mind that this time, it would be different.
Somehow, she would come to love him, and him, her.
She saw in him a soldier; whose battle wounds were ghastly.
He had lived through hell and came back to dispel the stories,
But instead of stories of agony and woe, and anger and spite,
He spoke of the morning dew on dandelions reflecting the sun’s rays and how they most beautifully sprung from nothing.
He spoke of the quiet whispers of the wind bringing music to deaf ears.
He spoke of how if you listen closely, you can almost hear each cricket sing its song
in a field of thousands.
In his mind beauty overcame ugly, and happiness was the remedy to any solemnity.
Each time he kissed her,
he did as if it were the last.
Each time he held her,
he did as if she were asleep.
Each time he healed her wounds,
he did as if they were preemptive.
Faizel Farzee Feb 2020
A smile that lights the darkest corner of this unforgiving world.

You are my fire, cinders in my soul constantly burning
Your touch melted my icy heart, all it ever knew was unrelenting cold.

My soul you armed with confidence, gave it strength, worth It's weapon, it's so bold.

Life handed me a bad hand, without you in it, I would have to fold.

Together we travel this winding road directionless, even if it is unknown.

Every moment love shared, a river of love, we prayed to find each other
Between us it religiously flows.

We both wholeheartedly without any doubt  feel the same, our love knows.

You my heavenly Angel, your words divine,
Your heart your Angelic halo.
This is the month of love, let your feelings known
shout it from the rooftop, let your better half know,
together love shared, watered
together you will grow.
Gabriel burnS Jul 2017
To war!
The queen commands,
Battalions defend at once!
The battleship is pounding on her shores;
and past defensive lines extends
the front of the invading force,
retreats, regroups,
rallying the troops,
the enemy is pouring through the doors.
Her thoughts are soldiers finally expired.
Her generals now under heavy fire.
Yet she's the one who, after all,
this battle, skillfully,  provoked.
It seems that she forgot
that cold wars can turn hot.
She managed for awhile to slow down the assault.
Now the end draws nigh when final hill embattled falls.
oldie-goldie (18+)

— The End —