Overlooked gloom hidden from under the blooms,
Illusion of an easily forgotten sunshine,
Carries the burden of blues breaking one's spine.
Others saw her as a source of light,
Fail to observe the cast of shadows in the absence of her delight.
She grows gardens and vines,
But none knows that dies inside.
A piercing curve on her lips,
Mimics the piercing needles in captive's grip.
But the God of the dark stole her from the sun's sight,
Took her to the place that mirrors the darkest of night.
A King whose ability to illuminate the unlit and warm the cold,
Burned her flowers and turned them into gold.
Crumpled her hidden shadows and exiled from his stronghold,
Then placed a crown on her head and seated her in the throne.
The belittled nymph flee free from her chains,
Ate the pomegranate that left inky stains.
With the dead, she resides,
But there, she never felt more alive.
He took the flowers from her hands,
It withered away in an instant.
He gave her a crown of bones,
Only fall down in time's tombstone.
Under Apollo's light, she was just a neglected child,
Makes roses grow, and later, throw.
But below under, she saw light,
With him, she was never neglected but always in delight.
You'd ask her how she can grow to love her captor,
But she's a rose on a pot and he gave her a whole field to grow.
You'd ask her how she can love a monster,
But when she wanted to dance, he sang for her.
You might find their love contentious,
But when she was broken and her heart cut by the sherds,
He carried her to where echoes can be heard,
And made all hell listen to her words.
YOU ARE READING
Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken
PoetryCollection of original poems as a way of expressing the author's unsaid thoughts and emotions. A coping mechanism of regretting the "what if's" and haunting forethought. Note that all the poems published are originally my work. Do not post it in an...
