it the very act of innocence.
the sound of agonizing breaths
escaping from her within.
he grips his spear tighter, as if
effort could save lives,
and sings in his mind every
hymn he knows.
her light flickers, and as she
begins to depart, he staggers
over to her, and wishes she
could see the devil's horns he
kept hidden, for the lord's and her
sake, because he was an angel
that was thrown out of paradise
for the unfathomable crime
of loving her.
it was la douleur exquise,
because she was leaving and
he wished she would stay.
so, to diminish her pain and
explode his, he ends up
stabbing her with his spear.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
