Wednesday, January 1, 2020

A poet's dead heart

This is a poem of a dead heart. The shutters of my heart creep a silent wind.
Because this beating flesh only moves to the sound of your voice. 
The coldness shiver throughout my body, my soul.
To hear your silky voice, to see your smooth skin melt into mine
It would describe pleasure to the letter
Yet I know your breath speaks to another
I know your heart was given to a much better soul
So bleed for me, love
Bleed unto your lover
Because I am forever a shadow that casts over you
A watcher of another time, of another life
Yes this watcher knows not of love, but of heartache, forever and always.

No comments:

Post a Comment