Stone hearted, cold blooded,
calculative mind, creative heart.
A blank scroll on my lap
and a pen ready to start.
In a bar at night—hooded eyes
drunk on thrill—awaiting a muse.
Alert eyes, preying on the weak but
I am someone no one would refuse.
So here I go to the prettiest one in row—
begging, pleading—for I need a love tonight.
And every night thereafter, for a fortnight
secretly dancing in the mellow moonlight.
And then for evermore;
to kill and ruefully burrow.
~02/12/24 EH ©
🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸
Word count - 87
Lines - 7
The painting attached is the last of The Weeping women (a series of oil on canvas paintings by Pablo Picasso depicting Dora Maar, his mistress and muse. )
What's your thoughts on Picasso?
Both as a painter and as a person.
°•~
°•
°
☆Add the book to your library if you liked the poem☆
YOU ARE READING
Secrets of the Shadows
PoetryShadows are pretty sweet as shade from the afternoon sun yet it is shadows that we fear while out on an evening run. We run away only to realise, they are part of us. Wherever we go, our shadow follows. Except when it's the night and we realise our...
