It’s my glory in knowing you,
I give myself freely away, but,
But what earnest reward I am to take,
If not to repiece that I have broken;
Could I spare myself from danger
Without having myself be the victim?
Is no blessing better than this,
Than that is in knowing you than mine,
These hands that betray me by word,
If not mine hands than whose to write,
Why words of mine ere spoken so harsh,
That slip from me, that I shall lose?
Alas, my Destroyer, I am only victim;
There’s only myself left to victimise,
How long before you destroy me twice?
Where reaction lies and so have I,
Who looks where I tread through life,
Is not the life where I ought belong,
He gave me words that wound me so,
Give me glory to repel them equal,
I’ll move on broken and arrested.

Is there no blessing greater than that,
The strongest man by love arrested,
Speaks the sweetest words for appeal
Where long over half his time beget?
As silence between us grows,
So too the rift within me flows,
There is only blood to fill my gaps.
Vindicate me, Destroyer, allow me.

Poetry, Romance, Works
, , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: