Cold wind whispers
Sharply pierce like stinging knives.
My cheeks are washed anew
By a baptism of salty tears
Dripping,
Falling,
Inching down
The journey to my heart.
Worn on my sleeve,
My organ of love calls
Like a siren
To bittersweet moments
Of restarts
And silent parts
In this drama put on
By you and I,
As dancing fools
With makeup covered eyes.
We use our affluence
To hide our lies
But in the end
It leaves us blind.
The tragedy lies,
In broken lines,
Written by ink
Long ago dried
On the back of Him
By cord-whip strikes.
Consume them
And live.
"the tragedy lies in broken lines" - nice. I like this very much
ReplyDeletehttp://thepoet-tree-house.blogspot.com/2012/02/when-your-love-is-cats-meow.html
wow...powerful...lines written on his striped back...def a powerful image...
ReplyDeleteI think this message needs to be put out there. So much love spent in things, gaining nothing in return except despair.
ReplyDeleteWe use our affluence
To hide our lies
But in the end
It leaves us blind.
there's a cold wind blowing through this...the cord-whip strikes...powerful images...
ReplyDeletevery powerful read and intense imagery...I love this :)
ReplyDelete