Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

must I be able?

12 March 2014

 

 

I brought you words,

crumpled pages from

the annals of my days,

yellowed rituals, unspoken.

Unremembered,

and neglected until needed,

I offered them to you.

 

He too,

bled onto the page,

his imperfections

offered as his best.

 

And you,

you accepted him,

blessed him,

and I became a slave,

hiding my face from

your rejection,

your displeasure.

 

Such murderous jealousy,

condemned me to wandering,

out among so many,

where no one hears my words.

My curse, my punishment –

to ground my innermost thoughts,

for thistles, nothing more,

to ask without ever knowing:

Must I be able?

 

 

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12 March, 2014 - Posted by | Poetry |

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