You wrote such scathing words to me,
You blotted out my name,
You professed sweet and tender love,
And further still you made.
You plucked the verbs right from my breath,
Raised nouns in my estate,
You tweaked the letters in the stars,
My Apostrophized Oblate.
You gifted me a string of pearls,
Made from verse and rate,
My wedding ring you forged in gold,
From hills in pages made.
Our children toddle on at home,
Your meter and refrain,
You are my greatest divorcee,
My Apostrophized Oblate.
What I would give to hear you speak,
Your voice call out my name,
What I would give to read your words,
Your writings of love ashamed.
What I would give to return to then,
Before it was too late,
To times when you wrote from your pen,
My Apostrophized Oblate.
Instead I carry on your thoughts,
Your echoes through my glen,
And of my lilies rearrange,
Their petals to portend,
What stories lie beneath the earth,
What words you've left unsaid.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collection
PoetryA simple collection of my poetry, some gathered from old notebooks and some bespoke writings for this collection. There is something of a narrative, loosely speaking, that could be constructed here, with recurring mentions of places and unnamed cha...
