Prose

Two Years

A two-year old poem

When the world ends
What will we have?
When the sun sets
Where is the light?
When the happiness dies
Where are the smiles and laughter?
And when there is no love
Will I still have you?

November 29, 2012 6:46pm

Two years later

I wish I knew. I wish I knew you wouldn't last. You were as temporary as the thoughts in my mind, the ink on my fingertips. We were not built to last. We were not built. We were parts that didn't quite fit together, but my oh my, I tried. We were acres and acres of salt covered land trying to yield beautiful flowers. We were the scorched cities, wishing to be redeemed. We were war torn country sides trying to find the peace in this damned whirlwind of self hatred and blame. I will never look for you again.
Bless the words on my tongue and the blood in my veins, I would rather see the flames of hell than your face.
For I am not the dainty field of flowers that I once tried to be for you. My dear, I have been struck by lightning and had thunder rumble from my lungs. I have seen the sky fall and I have lifted it on my shoulders. I am not weak. I am not pretty. I am a brilliant sky of white hot stars that will melt your eyes from your skull. I am not dainty, nor will I ever be. I am borne of the same metal as the knife that will stab into your spine and carve your heart from your chest.
Because I have built my empire, my dear, and it is I who wears the crown. I will rise from the ashes of the bridges I have burned and I will fuel the flames of my redemption with the blood from your veins.

November 17, 2014 9:11pm