"cruelties" poems
*i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication
seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth
glamors that excite
cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards
wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice
your supplication
love pangs
i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life
I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous
waiting humbly in the wings
i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops
as it echoes through oblivion*
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?
will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?
will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?
are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?
do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?
my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise
and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
*"Claim me,"
she whispers in a plea
"claim my soul as I wilt"
Crimson lips parted,
head thrown back
in ecstatic ache
jugular bared
she needs to feel
that sharp -edged love,
skin and barriers broken
as she melts into
the underworld
of a new grace
a magenta cry into
the inky sky
sacred silence penetrated
as only gasps are heard
milky ******* decorated
with red liquid ribbon,
his nourishment,
her demise
******* pierced with
beads of her sunset life flow
as he ***** and bites...
and howling
into heaven's delicious gate,
she writhes
Her soul dissolving
into his night
and as his spirit
absorbs her vermilion soul
their power rises,
black as coal
…………….
your lips
stick black
sanguine smile
tremulous murmurs
oh happy blood blossom of deaths surrender
sacrificial lamb
cats sparrow entranced
thighs on fire
sobbing from a thousand needled kisses
******* tearing blood
each wound a weeping mouth licking
milky white alter of cold stone
saturated alizarin rust
legs wide
feet and ******* trussed
in chains and drenched rags
for cruelties arrow
o crimson queen,
pomegranate half eaten
mouth smudge black
agape
snake tongue dancing
through cherry lips twisted
darkened eyes of fire and blood
a wash in devils incense
beloved veiled
in evils cradle
bind not the demons kiss
then face down my love upon the crypt of mist
black heavens gate
pupa
vampires bate
a blood moon shaking
a scourge you are now
goddess of pleasures wretched
in the Tuileries of the abyss
consort
your every piercing fang
duck tail ****
a boiling cauldron
desire
spills out
dark cupid witch
legs tied to throat
devil ***** twitch
******* in a mote
ive got the itch
feet scorched in rope
hot ******* *****
hells dark pope
vampiress *****
dark girl feeding
the sun is no more
loves the bleeding*
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
People just don't understand that my scars are part of what make me who I am,
I may have created them out of foolishness,
but they were debated over agony in the purist.
You may look at me differently because of them,
and of course I understand that,
they are not what make me pretty, nor friendly.
But they remind me that I am not always correct about everything.
They remind me that pain is real.
That I can feel whatever I want to feel in this insane world,
and even though I did make them myself,
I can remember the pain that was felt that in fact inspired them.
and now late at night when the silence creeps in,
I cannot sleep because I remember back then.
and the pain that you dealt may have been done in secret,
but either way you knew that I would hear it, and I will not say a word of hate towards you,
because we were small people in the middle of the sea.
And when I look down I have a constant reminder of that,
but I am stonger now, because of all the tears you caused me to cry.
I will stand taller now, because of your cruelties towards me.
I'll know not to cry next time.
Because in that situation it made things worse.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
I am not my demons
They are made entirely of me.
They are the cruelties I've suffered,
Presenting themselves like tornados through small towns.
Towns that don't seem like much at a passing glance,
But who's residents never doubt
The beauty and potential it holds
If only you stay long enough to notice it.
But how can anyone see the beauty in towns
That are forever being brought to ruins.
At the mercy of something as destructive
And unpredictable
As a **** tornado?
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
Where's the ventriloquist
throwing voices around
like whistling stray dogs
the voice and the vision
a crystal *****
whispering
with mud in the mouth
the ***** doesn't lie
a yammering vantwilaquist
who's voice springs from a blood cream corridor
with electric lips and rainbow flesh
a lost beast dazzled in endless wander lust
in search of a scarlet women
surrounded only
by aspiring virgins
sworn to be true
by desolations caress
in black ash weddings
with white frilly dresses
weeping for delicate cruelties
they will never know
his father a falling star
his soul
an undulating cobalt shrine
to her
who he can not find
a catalog of discrepancies
a noxious experiment
with a wandering eye
lust ******
embattled between reason and passion
is that look your giving me
shorthand psychic humiliation
for my vile indiscretions I'm trembling to visit upon you
I'm wearing my face like window dressing
hiding the obscenity of my true will behind a curled lip
eyes down cast
hoping to use you like a vacant room
to smear the walls and floors
with your flesh like ************ glitter
too bad
i'm outnumbered by good people
there are sky-fulls of them
agitated with moral concerns
ruining my life with logic
those scoundrels
got pedigree
ideologies
religion
folded ears and moving lips
all monkeys see and monkeys do
who are they
and
were
is
their
ventriloquist
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I got the job
It was the logical thing to do
Sweet sweat dripping down from face to chest, from chest to groin
From groin to thigh, from thigh to toe
I can consolidate this liquid in a jar and trade it for nighttime pleasures
The things we were told never to do are now the luxuries that keep us going
Something green, something brown, something resulting in the "stench" that the neighbors complain about
But I got the job so I can indulge in such cruelties
Silly financial problems creating stress resulting in overindulgence thus causing more financial problems
I can see the cycle emerge and I feel helpless and vulnerable
But no, no, no! Life is what you make it! A paradise, a jail cell, a flower, a hole...
I'll go with the flower, I shall feed it water even if it appears withered and dry
It may take a year, it may take a decade, it may take a lifetime, but you will bloom, my dear flower,
YOU WILL BLOOM! bloom, bloom, and blossom! BLOSSOM!
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
I gave away my branches,
I gave away my leaves,
you chopped me up for housing,
then ran off,
leaving me.
I gave away my dirt,
and gave away my air,
I gave away the water,
you said you'd none to spare.
I gave away my patterns,
I gave away my age,
I gave away all I had,
and you'd just take and take.
And now that I have nothing,
I sit alone, and cry
I think how I am now a stump,
and you didn't even say goodbye.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
do you have a dark secret
my darling
a terrible brain
instead of nice ***** pink
girl things
you ache for ****** insertions
cutting edges
menstrual swab mouth plug selfies
while you pretend all is well
loving Mother Mary
at the church with mummy
knowing
deep down inside
your a ***** *****
god dam the boys look good
do you have the courage
to admit it
first to your self
and then another
or shall you live
muzzled
as you finger *****
obsessed with flying *****
and devils teeth
pigs nuzzling mud and ****
strewn at a *** trough
you love playing with fire
hot toes and ****
oh yeah
turn up the ****** heat
your craven desires
to be a **** toy
and then the pleasure
break me break me
twisted broken
little **** toy
if you could only find me
your
Lover
Linker
Licker
Sucker
Thinker
Maker
Shaker
Breaker
******
Burner
Cutter
Shooter
Impaler
the one who glorifies
your *** hole
insinuates kisses that tear
who adores your
midnight whimpers
howls of pleasure
cries for help
no safe words
bending bending
broken
mutilation gasms
you smiling
succubus
hobbling over
for another hard blow
your **** drenched
******* zinging
from razors play
blood red rivulets
falling on pretty feet
while good people
dream of angels
you dream of
big cocked men
and merciless gang bangs
a sweet ***** of Babylon
hard justice
cruelties ecstatic
being beaten to death
by 100 buttered *****
legs and arms piled high
and **** and **** and more ****
your holy trinity
no you say
there must be some mistake
thats not you
your on gods leash
burying yourself
in black rocks
crypt of normalcy
your goody goody goody
time to cinch up
veil of the nunnery
hinge on the death mask
no honey
theres no gorilla
in your cave
crushing girlie's soul
pride will out shine all
til last bloom is no more
then learn laments fury
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
Thousands in numbers for a meagre few to ****
For the injustice meted out 1400 years ago,
To enforce allegiance and satisfy their ego
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
For the innocent who had done no ill,
Where Hussain stood against injustice and oppression,
Against undue aggression.
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
Tears of blood my eyes fill,
Where Hussain's seventy-two kinsmen were slain on the scorching sand,
Hardships and cruelties they were ready to withstand,
Denied food and water for three days,
Ready to die in Allah's ways.
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
My tears continue to spill,
When I listen to the orator,
How Hussain's six month son was denied water,
Instead pierced to death with a three headed arrow,
Which a father from the neck had to withdraw.
How Hussain's brother's hands
were severed and he was killed because he took water from R.Euphrates in a *** for his niece,
A brother who emanated love and peace.
How they battered to death Hussain's eighteen year old son, an exact resemblance of Prophet Muhammed(SAW),
Prime in his youth,a great sorrow
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
My tears continue to spill
How Hussain was slain,
On the scorching sand,
Without food and water,
With 999 wounds,blood splurting
out of all parts of his body, to be slaughtered,
Forty thousand army raining arrows at him from all directions,
Blood blurring his vision
He, Hussain alone, unable to move a limb,
A target to satisfy their whims
Some threw stones, some pierced spears and others wounded him with axes,
The leader kicked Hussain and tried to slaughter his neck with a blunt knife,
Not that way, you cannot take my life,
And Hussain said,"Let me prostrate before Allah and pray for forgiveness for my people,
Wounded and feeble,
With an inner strength Hussain heaved himself and gave the last Sajda(prostation),
The enemy severed off his head from his body without hesitation.
Hussain kept his promise to his grandfather to sacrifice his head for Islam,
That day the skies, earth and nature wept bitterly for Hussain(Alai Salam).
Who would not?
The tragedy of Kerbala would evoke deep grief even in the heedless.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
unmotherly love envelops you in all your childish ways
snickers and jealousy
emotional vampira
vacuous hole holding love at ransom
unmotherly mother
narcissim reigns over your sadistic ire
never satisfied
manipulation and cunning
pander them to exact perfect cuts of pain from me
but this is the last heart bleed
this the last compassionate faulter
I am no longer your prisoner
my babes are safe in bough of my loving arms
a million miles away from your strategic abandonment of me
your Radom spates of visitational cruelties
it spread a generation too far
you went too far
It will no longer reign
My humility is gone I am the best version of every dream you ever had
and I did it on my own
despite the cruelty of your cold
a lesson must be learned
now I'll show you a mother with a fierce love
the mother you choose not to be
a lioness crouched over her cubs guarded by claws
though capable as my other siblings seem to attest
you only have interests for their best
no more last
no more future
no more past
you don't hurt me anymore
my progeny will rise to all they aspire
challenged and sheltered
all equally loved
a child can not be her own mother's mother
you are nothing I need, now nothing I want
my only regret is, that I didn't leave your black hole sooner.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
God did not mean to give me a mouth.
He meant to give me hands, eyes, a heart
but not a mouth.
When I speak something in me bleeds. When I-
I speak, and my eyes fog over like glass.
I can't see you standing there, I'm so sorry. Show me again, where did you put the bread?
I feel like a thing that needs to be forgiven.
I feel so fragile sometimes.
I am trying to understand the
weight of the evil inflicted upon me.
It is heavy. I never understood that 'till now.
I wasn't meant to carry this weight, but I do.
I wasn't meant to speak the way I
so often will, but I do.
What can I say anymore?
I can't write without bleeding. I can't speak without knowing it is a wound. How can I communicate without tearing something open? I'm afraid of shutting up and looking for my language. If I decide to leave behind every word that hurts me, would I have any words left? Will it **** the little bit of connection with people I have left?
Listen.
I hope you forgive me for the little sadness I'll inspire in you.
I am afraid, but don't pity me. I am blossoming and becoming something else.
This, apotheosis, this becoming closer and closer to my own light.
It is a process that requires allowing death.
What must die must die. Allow grief.
I'll leave you with this:
If you slept next to me, it would be
much like sleeping with a letter under your pillow.
Every night, every night...
*"Here I write to you a list of cruelties I am capable of.
May you never forget:
I have made the flower so that it may blossom, and I have made the lamb so that it may eat it.
Blessed be the one willing to become.
Here, the flower. Here, the lamb."
- God*
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
Enter softly, she spoke to me, twisted like fungi on a tree trunk. For every spot of desert there's an ounce of ocean to fit inside it. Our tunnels will meet someday I told her. Do not be afraid reading this, doom can be sweet as a garden or smelly like an eye ******
My abdomen is creased with age and tourniquets. Every time...I tie myself to a lamp post and wait for my Master to come with the next direction. I eat sugar cubes, carrots, and stand eight feet- so dive with me. I am a Pisces. I have been built to swim and suffer intolerable cruelties. Break me with your hand, your closed fist, a strap of leather, a bagful of flour. I am not the valor of your toothbrush or table cloth. I do not follow the sunset home, instead I fly over the bayou, scouting for sandpipers in the low tide.
Looking at the telephone for you to appear, playing the songs of you in my head. I hear you, I remember the airports, the MCA, the head holding, and the longing. In place of reality, I choose your colors boldly and stuff them tightly into my left lapel and chest breast pocket. You are superior evidence that I exist.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
And thus declared the Arab lady:
"Last night where under the wild moon
On grassy mattress I had lain me,
Within my arms great Solomon,
I suddenly cried out in a strange tongue
Not his, not mine."
And he that knew
All sounds by bird or angel sung
Answered: "A crested cockerel crew
Upon a blossoming apple bough
Three hundred years before the Fall,
And never crew again till now,
And would not now but that he thought,
Chance being at one with Choice at last,
All that the brigand apple brought
And this foul world were dead at last.
He that crowed out eternity
Thought to have crowed it in again.
A lover with a spider's eye
Will found out some appropriate pain,
Aye, though all passion's in the glance,
For every nerve: lover tests lover
With cruelties of Choice and Chance;
And when at last the murder's over
Maybe the bride-bed brings despair,
For each an imagined image brings
And finds a real image there;
Yet the world ends when these two things,
Though several, are a single light,
When oil and wick are burned in one;
Therefore a blessed moon last night
Gave Sheba to her Solomon."
"Yet the world stays":
"If that be so,
Your cockerel found us in the wrong
Although it thought it worth a crow.
Maybe an image is too strong
Or maybe is not strong enough"
"The night has fallen; not a sound
In the forbidden sacred grove,
Unless a petal hit the ground,
Nor any human sight within it
But the crushed grass where we have lain;
And the moon is wilder every minute.
Oh, Solomon! Let us try again."
1.7k
It was written in the beginning, a beginning before Britain, before folklore, gore and war. A beginning then, when the lords created, decorated and separated the night and also the bright, bright light. Therefore, a delight! In the beginning, creating the seven ways of days and the rays. The birth of earth, the black ravens, the havens and the heavens. A beginning of clean slates, dreams, schemes and themes!
As I blink and wink, badly and sadly I think… An ending, with fate or an ending with no ascending or commending date? Let’s debate and negotiate! A beginning, of Pharaohs, their arrows and the sparrows. An ending of sorrow? A beginning, borrowed from our hour’s tomorrow? An ending, I deem, that forever bends, defends, depends, pretends and never, ever seems to end. The heavens specialties and
hell’s cruelties. Governments and their restraints! Negative and positive lengths and strengths. A beginning and an ending; betrayed and strayed, long before many of us were to play or say. Stories of cities, glories and their pities! Starving nations and Haitians! Expensive vacations and relations! The elapsed and relapsed! Perhaps, the mishaps and disruption of our corruption’s eruption and ending
destruction? Hey! I say, let’s turn a page past the basked, the masked and vast. A fold past the cages that enrage-rage, wage and old age.
The detained delights, the petty fights and plights. Why can’t we each reunite? Unite forever! Drop and stop this harm and fight. Fly into the night, together with our almighty arms and mighty charms. Primarily, in the beginning or ending, let us not negatively but too positively and ultimately amend! Children, men and women, amen.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC
talk not to me
of the reality that media shoot
at me from morn to evening
not of catastrophes or cruelties
humans inflict upon each other
with never-ending venom
speak to me of the delight
a newborn gives its parents
the joy and pride a child feels
mastering its first challenging task
the sudden sparkle in the eye
of refugees when finally they have reached safety
the wordless joy when two have found each other
and for a time need nobody else
speak to me
of all the moments in our daily life
that make us proud to be human
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
The mirth crease on my face,
Are the traces of scoff,
Laced in my heart,
The oath I swore,
I hold with pride,
And the throne;I shall surely ascend,
For in their minds are nefarious surmise,
Bequeathed by their fathers,
As an epitome of my exactitude,
And in the reverence of their supposed lore,
"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
The webs I cast,
And crown the ravens on the orbs,
Somersaulting the flamboyance and alluring sciences,
In the follies of their fantasies and lust,
Their souls are clipped with taint claws,
And shooed into my den,
"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their temples and synagogues,
Are my dote ravens,
Quoting the collars of their scriptures,
And stalking their honored lingo,
In their desperations for excellence and deliverance,
Their minds and sight,
Are bewitched with elixirs,
To their satiety,
And drove in slavery,
'He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their moments of quandery,
I hover on the corridors of their thoughts,
And whisper the "B" plans,
Brewing the animosities and cruelties among theirselves,
Carving justification for the aftermath,
But still;"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
Apostrophe'
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
the thing about love that seldom finds its way into conversation is the peril it carries. you surrender fragments of yourself..no, the entirety of yourself into another’s hands, praying they cradle it with reverence. yet what transpires when your devotion becomes suffocating, when the sheer intensity of your affection drowns them until escape feels like survival? they run. and you remain amidst the wreckage, gathering fractured remnants, attempting to reconstruct a semblance of wholeness.
you spiral into relentless rumination.. dissecting every misstep, questioning whether it was you, whether they’ll ever return.
and the cruelty of it all lies in the conviction since i believed with marrow-deep certainty that the two of us got it right this time around.
they said the first fracture cleaves the hardest, and they were not wrong. i wrestle with the storm until my hands are empty; in an instant a cosmos i trusted unspooled into silence. my emotions orbit without chart or tether, a scatter of constellations asking the same questions: do you still trace my name in the dark? do you love me in the quiet spaces between breaths? would you return to salvage what we built? i yearn to know.
my loving was always meant to be a refuge. a delicate harbor where you could unfurl into your truest form, not a rope to bind or a tide to drown you. it was offered to you for shelter from the world’s cruelties as a small, pure architecture of safety but never as something to drive you away. i hope in time you will see it as such. even if you never do, i can’t fault you for that.
just carry this with you like a quiet ember: my love remains and i ache for the day you remember what we once built together.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 1:31 AM UTC
Spirit is a unified field
infinite
in a state of perpetual expansion
seamless bliss
beyond the slings and arrows of creations drama
pain and pleasure
disappointment and gratifications
we live
in the
zim zum
A cauldron
hollowed out
of the the self effulgent light
the source
formless
the theater of creation
a dark space of dynamic geometry
of fractious binary forces
a merciless churn
an atrocity for the evolution of individuation
pistons in motion
a cacophonous feng shui
a tangle of webs
a grand illusion
of energetics
kamikaze planets
hideous cruelties and voluptuous pleasures
a swarm of form
hydras in heat
countless lights casting inestimable shadows
a war between heaven
absolute order
and hell
absolute chaos
our lives
a medium
for the gods of struggle
until our heads a stone
the exit door
is pure spirit
spiritus...breath
breathing made conscious
the big hush
the royal yoga
waiting for the guileless
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
The ripening berries
Summer's last blaze
when her breath is of jasmine
and phlox is her sigh
Let me dream then,
of summer
and float through the haze
peaceful breath
bed of poppies
ceiling of blue sky
Let me float
like a feather
in the arms
of the breeze
Let me drift
like a leaf
on a tide, upstream
with the murmur of water
the soft hum of bees
in a garden
in peace
in sleep
in a dream
Send me love's angels
to watch at my bed
golden of voice
and silver of wing;
two at the far corners
two at my head
with my dreams
all of heaven
when softly
they sing
Send me a light
that can never grow dim
love, like a candle
to lighten my heart
empty my mind
of each worry and whim
and the ghosts
of nights demons
that tear me apart
Till I float
like a feather
in the arms
of the breeze
and drift
like a leaf
on a tide, upstream
love make me wise
through life's cruelties
sleep dry my eyes
make me still
let me dream.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 4:54 PM UTC
*"During" of all is death maybe,
Precious life being rare so amidst.
In idle boredoms long,innocuous,fewer
The inspirations kindling sharp and deep.
Many aimless wanderings wide, hectic
Not often the calm,lucid moments, still.
Much talks cheap, too many words tripe
Silences creative but few,that flower pretty.
In an enduring numbness and sadness real
Lesser those loves true, uniquely outstanding.
In pains purposeless,cruelties dealt heartless
Present ever fewer,those angels of mercy.
In epic text heavenly,wise sermons long,
Rare that one lovely poem focused strong.
If only durings were lived, aware positive!
O angels,bless us with life more,meaningful
During lives NOW,for sliding are we all fast,
alive,dead senseless,to a death final and futile!*
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
Aged to perfection.
if tongue were possessed,
the stories it would tell.
Fighting life's cruelties,
with elitist disregard.
Unjust paradigms,
swept under the rug.
Misleading confessions,
of love not truly overcome.
Damsels left in distress,
while prince charming clears his glass.
Like Alice through the rabbit hole,
living in a dream.
Drink up.
Shrink down.
Forget all.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
I speak your name
I touch you
from the cold you emerge
have I known you?
has it come to the point
where hearts must bleed
before they sing?
I can not believe
that I have loved you
for so long
and yet not see
what went wrong along the way
that the door between us
just snapped shut
have you suffered
cruelties that I
did not forsee?
and with a heavy load
that wanted to unburden itself
I cried....
long ago and far away
I seem to recall
you cradled me in your arms
the feeling stuck
to always haunt my mind
I ache with longing
for your touch
when was it born
this bitterness in our hearts?
why have we nursed it deep within
only to find shadows
climbing on our backs
clawing their way into the
very essence of our togetherness
somehow I believe
you must have loved me too
but that is gone now
and everything is through.....
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC