I said a word
You told a story
I stay quiet and you weep I worry
Let me go, Dark Love, I am fine
For not all laughter comes followed by a line
There is humor too in silent ways
In lost nights, due coming days
But if your pleasure at my pain is too wanting
If the shadow of my smile to you is haunting
Leave me be, in my sanctum
Upon my own shore;
I have lost all and now need no more
Your claws, they have taken their pound,
From my grave, upon the sacred ground,
Unmarked and ready by fate
For eternity: that final date,
Never to rise again before all else falls
This world with it’s countless walls.
Let me go, Dark Love, and be free
From the ken of a ballroom pedigree
Deep into the wild whereat my feet
Can stay silent forever and not repeat
Like a dirge from a common copper bell
That carry new souls to suffer through old hell
Of mottled minds and hollow hearts afloat on oil
And watered blood, faint upon the soil
Where flowers blossom only in dark
Every hour when a dying dog bark.
So let the time with it’s movement still me
As a tremor in your memory
For all good comes to those who forget
And they who remember, have forgotten in it’s wait…

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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