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Trying to erase
These images from my brain
No matter how I try
These thoughts will not wane

Never will I forget
That look on her face
Was it shame
Or maybe disgrace

Seems like yesterday
When I barged through the door
She was in his arms
Need I say anymore

Sent me into
An incredible fit of rage
Like a starving lion
Released from its cage

Grabbed him by his neck
Like a lion does its prey
Looked him in his eye
Asked what he had to say

I'm so sorry
I didn't know she is your wife
Please don't **** me
He begged for his life

Feeling kind
His life I did spare
But from now on
He will walk with a chair

There is a lesson
He hasn't learned
If you play with fire
You're going to get burned

As for my wife
It is her I did leave
To me she is dead
For her I won't grieve

Since then I made
A brand new start
Found a beautiful woman
And gave her my heart

She is my true love
My only best friend
Our love will live forever
Never finding an end
  Jul 2016 The Lunchtime Poet
Stephan


Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander, head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out sneakers,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints of blistered dust


“My sanity for some cool water.”

When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground taking it
where it would suit another, for this is my luck


“Take my shade I beg not, for it is merely a branch.”

Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
Nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies featuring a glow,
pristine shades of which I’ve never seen, heavenly


“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”

When before me stands, my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus on beauty, winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder, is this my end?


“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly.”

A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality,
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime
“I have come to you as a verse, for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,” lyrical this voice sings
melodic and harmonious, a rhythm to the beat of my heart,
the race of my pulse, the love of my life, my muse, my all
  

*“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen.”
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