I drown the mountains
of this pain
in these teardrops
and storms of rain
It suffocates slowly
and it will die
before I see one droplet
in your eye
For you are the tender
new life bloom
and the reason for
all the things I do
So I will let
all the torments lay
on my own sore back
day after day
These whips are only
a feather to me
when I hold onto
your memory
Your gentle spirit
and laughter hold
deep in the recess
of my forlorn soul
So I shall stand
and work in these chains
so I can hold you
at the end of the day
(August 20th, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
