There is a place in Poetry

There is a place
Concealed by secret paths
Are those whose acrid love
Was consumed with brutal waste
A myrtle grove encloses them
And their scars of pain
Remain in death

The night camouflages the Earth
With dew and shadows
Stars ascend into the heavens
While the black night
Steals the pigment of everything

She feeds her wounds
That exposes her veins
Being eaten by a secret flame
The shaft of death
Clinging to her side
She holds fast to
Falsehoods and distortion to determine
The degrees of truth
She cannot submit to sleep
Nor accept the gift of night
Into her luscious eyes
And her portrait
Still hangs in my darkest memories

Echoing across
The heavens
To the window of my life
I’m between
Love’s pain and press
I saw our window of opportunity
Stolen by the gods’ jealousy
She’s watched me die
Over and over again
But somehow it is me
That lives

Last updated December 01, 2018