#247

April 17, 2017 § 2 Comments

 

This was written more than a year ago.

Of all of my years of living,
Which have only been a few,
I have never been as sorrowful,
As I am with you.

Your arm’s grip on my soul
Retains me enclosed behind this door,
Though you keep me whole
I would not beg for more

But perhaps it is destiny
That granted us this presence
Of an entity that keeps me,
Confined within its essence

Though plead, I did not
Nor run, have I so
But creed took its pot
And fed me to the foe

Now I do not confess guilty
Yet truth would be a lie
For I held it gently
And to it, did not defy

But must you hurt me
After years of gratitude?
Or did we reach a curfew
And a split, requested solitude?

To now, I must behold
For I, must return
This sorrow, will make me bold,
Or else, continue to yearn.

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§ 2 Responses to #247

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