This chalice slips from my grip,
The stem is too thin and feels
Unnatural to my skin.
My fingers wrap around
you once more friend,
And I feel like myself again.
Seems my life is one
With the way of the blade,
And by grasping this hilt
And swinging down to slice,
Is how my path is made.
A fragile line as sharp
Is where I walk to my ends.
This blade, this means,
To cut away the useless.
This keen edge cuts away
Your deception, erasing
The pain of your facade.
Leaving only scars that bear truth.
As the cup hits the floor
And shatters, it leaves my hands
To take up this sword again.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
