Viewer Discretion is Advised

Fri, 07/06/2018 - 12:29 -- SPZRAY

It takes a minute for the Sun to move

From North to South, and

Back up again to marvel in his splendor

Of the motion, she grew tired

 

Low bronze and crisp lavender fork through her eyes

While she lights his nights ablaze

In fiery atonement he feels forgiven

She burns away the sins less driven

 

In all her light she remains but a pit

For the emotions of worn out souls and broken bodies

To gaze into blindness at the woman

Whom she appears to be

 

It remains heated play as they jest

Reckless hope from one so empty

Low bronze and crisp lavender forked through her eyes

And of the motion, she grew tired

 

Platonic

Something beyond her orbit

"Hit me up on the west side"

But he followed her to the red door: drove home on the inside

 

What a nice fancy; what a dare to dream

To have her in him

And him in she, but of the lighter such

"Oh touch me not lest you be burned"

 

The tempest raves in longing for desire

True in nature, hallelujah fire

Inside inside inside inside

Of the motion, she grew tired

 

Blowing one up, her cool always gave

Way to performance with the other stars higher

In the night with mellowed desperation

To be, come, more than the words of the 'wiser'

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741