"barberman" poems
tenderly, she plucks the strings-
like fruits from the forbidden tree.
one more christmas bell rings,-
as she whispers a gifted memory.
she strikes the cords of my heart;
tearing, like trailing winds from a dart.
smoothly, she touches my lonely soul-
with the attention of a careful barberman.
she holds me tight, not letting go,-
till the rhythm of her heart's song is done;
she hurts me. but she hurts me right.
so, i stay awatch, and dare not fight.
'but wait,' i catch a breath finally.
her eyes pierce the windows of my soul.
'if you want to lie, then lie next to me,
or lie in my arms and i wont let you fall.'
she says it will be all over very soon,-
before she deeps my existence in pain;
like playing a foreign song in a sweet tune;
she breaks me, but from her, i can't refrain.
'here's all i ask, if you want to play,-
let it be-fore-play-ing the wrong song okay?'
a guitar, stuck choice-lss, in her firm grip,-
i hurt, but i'm hers to play and hers to keep.
Keep Smiling
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC