Over its flawless sculpture,
I stood, no longer a boy
But of a manhood standing pure,
To this grand desire I shall not coy
Surrender to my mighty king,
Let the pain buried like a foy
And fight not, life must it bring
Let the rapid sigh turn to joy
Tell me and I pursue, gently
kindle the night of resting zeal
With rhythms of earnest glory
Like a home I long to feel
YOU ARE READING
Stitches and Wounds
PoetryI want you to hear my silent sobs whenever you are with him. I want you to feel my suppressed pain every wretched nights. I want you to know much I drowned in pain with the thought of you loving him. I want you to know how many stitched that knitted...
