Forgive me, but you are gorgeous
in mourning of fate’s diatribes
your brown eyes reflecting off of old Gatsby’s chandelier
Hair flirting with the wails of an empty earth
Little did she know…
her story was a tragedy revisited
and he was a hopeless romantic
She rose like a martyr
her youthful, delicate frame
a gift from a god
into the countless omnipotent eyes of the light
The surgeon’s tools quivering
like a mother’s hands burying her child
She bares the wounds of her caretaker
who bares the weight of a dark god.
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I really enjoy your work! I don’t always fully understand it, but its always an interesting piece.
Thank you, I’m glad to hear that. I’ll have some more up very soon.
Some powerful imagery.
There are times like the darkness. And sometimes we all go in…, lost, as strays. With pain. That’s what I thought from reading your write.
Something about this poem makes it my least favorite now that I think about it. I suppose it’s the connotation.